War Games
by Catwho
Summary: The plotters of history are trying to create the ultimate war game . . . and Sesshoumaru lies at the heart of their plans. Incomplete. To be resumed someday, perhaps...
1. One

War Games   
  
By Cat Who  
  
* * *  
  
I swore up and down that I wouldn't start on this until I finished Spice of Life. I lied. Enjoy.  
  
Inuyasha and Ranma 1/2 belong to Rumiko Takahashi. Noir belongs to Bee Train. Tenshi ni Narumon belongs to Studio Pierrot and the Heaven Project. This is a work of fanfiction. I make no profit, although Nabiki is probably making some money off of it, knowing her.  
  
* * *  
  
Where have all the demons gone?  
  
Hundreds of years ago, the forests were filled with them. The waters teamed with them. The sky blossomed into a rainbow of youkai every full moon, every new moon, every sunset and sunrise.  
  
Those days seem to have disappeared. As the human populatation grew, the demons left little by little, until no more remained in Japan.  
  
Things are not always as they seem, however. The demons knew when they were outnumbered, and so they disappeared into the shadows; portals to another dimension gradually became known as the daemons, the gateways to the Demon World.  
  
They are also still around us, in the Human World. They have . . . adapted. The person sharing your office may very well be a demon in disguise, and you'd never know because they have spells to hide it. Most of the ones in such a disguise are the powerful taiyoukai, demons who carry a human form in addition to a true form.   
  
In fact, the demons of Tokyo have become so numerous that the technically qualify as a minority. No government survey, especially in Japan, bothers to ask people their species in a census.   
  
A lot of them, for inexplicable reasons, have jobs in the Games Division of Sony.  
  
(This explains a lot about the Playstation, when you think about it.)  
  
But why are they working so hard in the Human World, when they have their own dimension with no pesky humans to bother them? Why go through all the trouble to disguise oneself so thoroughly only to live a lie?  
  
Perhaps it is because they are studying the humans. More likely they are living a life in the Human World because this world is somehow more real, more tangible, more concrete. Yet is it better to live a lie in the real world than to live the truth in a fantasy world? The demons would say yes, because *living* requires a real world to actually be possible. Besides, they'd continue, the human world is a hell of a lot more interesting.   
  
They don't have Playstations in the demon world. They don't have office jobs. They don't have CEOs of major corporations. There is power in the Human World, a type of power not found in the Demon World. It is the power, the absolute power, of control.  
  
* * *  
  
Chapter One [3rd draft]  
  
* * *  
  
Nerima, Tokyo, Japan  
  
Spring 1998  
  
* * *  
  
Four figures reflected in the wall to wall mirrors of the Tendou dojo. The mirrors, which had been installed several years ago, showed one master, one apprentice master, and two students, all wearing the traditional white martial arts uniforms, which had darkened with their sweat.  
  
Each face expressed grim concentration as they held a difficult crane position. They had been standing with their arms high in the air, on one leg, for more than ten minutes.  
  
"Arms down," Ranma Tendou finally said, much to the relief of the other three martial artists.  
  
Akane, Ranma's wife of nine years, exhaled slowly and stretched her arms a bit. The younger students groaned and massaged their sore limbs. They had tried to learn the Amuraguri-ken earlier, leaving them with burnt knuckles and bruised pride, but soon they'd be picking up speed as they practiced. The students, one boy and one girl, had looked surprised at Ranma's suggestion that they seek a part-time job as servers in a restaurant.   
  
"We're done for the day." Ranma bowed toward the students.  
  
"Thank you, sensei!" the three students chorused in unison, and bowed back. Then the two high schoolers took off for home, bickering all the way.  
  
Akane stood in the middle of the dojo, her arms crossed, smiling. Although she managed a pretty good Chestnut Fist herself, she had yet to really master the technique, and probably never would. Motherhood to their four year old son, Sounma, had become her first priority. She kept trying, however, and Ranma was glad that she hadn't abandoned the art after they'd gotten married.  
  
"Last class of the day," Ranma said, stretching his own arms a few more times as he walked toward his wife. "I cancelled the six o' clock class due to school high school exams."  
  
"That was nice of you," Akane said softly, and sucked on one burnt knuckle.   
  
"Is it bad?" Ranma asked, concerned. He held the offended hand in his own, eyeing the reddened area critically.  
  
"No worse than usual. I'll put some ointment on it and I'll be fine." Akane grimaced, and stomped one foot impatiently. "Why am I not picking up speed? I've been doing this for *how* many years now?"  
  
"Six," he answered automatically.  
  
"Six years, and I'm still nowhere near as fast as you! It isn't fair." Akane sighed and rescued her hand. "Come on, Auntie Nodoka will want me to watch her make dinner again, although I think we both need a bath first."  
  
"Yeah, good idea. You go first, then."  
  
Akane gave him a semi-smile, and trotted out of the dojo toward the furo. Ranma let out a sigh of his own, and dropped to his hands and knees, inspecting the floor of the dojo.  
  
"No new cracks, it looks like," he muttered to himself, and began crawling around. The floor had been broken and repaired so many times that it was almost impossible to tell what the original stain of the wood had been. The walls and the ceiling were much the same.  
  
Bits had been replaced over the years, but the heart of the dojo went on. That was the important thing. The learning, the concentration, the *soul* of the students who studied here was still embedded in the walls themselves, even if the walls were no longer the same ones that the students had studied in. The dojo was the thing, and the whole of the thing, whether it was the original dojo or not.  
  
At least that's what the Tendous told themselves. The insurance company for the house said otherwise. The brutal truth was that their dojo was old, and dangerous. More than once since they had started teaching classes again had a student broken through the flooring, or cut themselves while punching a hole in the wall. Even though they didn't have a mortgage or rent on their home, their insurance premium was extremely high, especially for Japan. They didn't have a lot of income, and what income they did have went almost entirely to the insurance and layers and layers of fines for teaching in such a dilapidated building.  
  
And that was with classes limited to an enrollment of five. The insurance agent, one of those very uptight salarymen who wore the perfect gray suit with the perfect gray hat and carried a perfect slim black leather suitcase, had hummed and hawed as he inspected the dojo, and glanced over the notes he had made beforehand. He had then presented them an ultimatum: Either fix the dojo, or have no more than six people in it at one time.  
  
Unfortunately, even with a maximum capacity of six, the insurance still nearly broke them each month. Tokyo had a moderate respect for its ancient buildings, like the Tendou dojo, which was at least two hundred years old, but it also liked them to be in a liveable condition. Those that weren't useable anymore had to go, in the name of progress.   
  
They could't take on more students until they repaired the dojo. They couldn't repair the dojo until they took more students. It was the ultimate catch twenty two. Ranma hated that there were so many things he *couldn't* do. His art, his whole way of being, depended on turning that "couldn't" into "will."   
  
I will somehow find the money to repair the dojo, he vowed as he stood up. I will be able to teach more students the Art. I will . . . somehow.  
  
* * *  
  
Nodoka and Genma had moved in with Ranma and Akane shortly after Nabiki had moved out, seven years ago. The arrangement had worked out well, since it finally left Kasumi free to move out too. Tofu Ono finally managed to ask for Kasumi's hand in marriage then, and with Nodoka to cook for her busy son and daughter-in-law, Kasumi hadn't felt guilty for leaving them at all.  
  
"Now, Akane," Nodoka began patiently, "we don't need to add any salt at this point."  
  
"But it tastes too bland!" Akane protested. Nodoka only let her "help" in the kitchen, since Akane had never been able to make very edible food on her own.  
  
"Sometimes bland is better. And even if we did want to add salt, it wouldn't need to be a full cup."  
  
Akane grudgingly put down the measuring cup, and stared at the merrily boiling stew angrily. Seven years with Nodoka had taught her to never cross Ranma's mother. She could out-nice even Kasumi while preparing you for ritual suicide, and afterward all you felt was tremendously guilty for disappointing her. That was the difference; Kasumi was never disappointed. Nodoka never said it, but Akane saw it in her eyes, and often felt as though she were a total failure as a wife.  
  
Sounma, the third generation living in the house, toddled through the kitchen to the porch where his grandfathers were engaged in a battle of go.   
  
"Saotome, it has been your turn for several minutes now," Soun Tendou complained.  
  
"I'm thinking, Tendou," Genma answered sharply. Sounma, named after both of his grandfathers, watched the stones with interest. He sat down carefully, his attention never wavering as he took in the pattern of black and white on the board.  
  
"No, Akane, we don't need any more seaweed."  
  
"But it'd add some more texture!"  
  
"Not even for texture, Akane. Put the seaweed down."  
  
"Yes, Auntie Nodoka . . ."  
  
Sounma ignored the voice of the women in the kitchen. Before him, a war waged on the metaphysical plane. White was winning, but only just. If black were to go there . . . and then white went *there* . . .  
  
Genma finally placed a black stone, in the wrong spot. Sounma sighed. He learned a lot from watching his grandfathers, but they just didn't seem to understand the power of the game.  
  
"Heya little fella," a warm tenor said from behind him, and picked him up. Sounma giggled as his father swung him in the air. Ranma was fresh from his bath, and wore a clean Chinese shirt and old sweatpants.  
  
"No, Akane, not that much sake. No!" Pots and pans banged from the kitchen.  
  
"You said it needs more bite to it!"  
  
"Bite, not a roundhouse kick."  
  
The four men stared in apprehension at the kitchen, where culinary Things happened.  
  
"Will she ever learn?" Ranma wondered aloud.  
  
"Probably not," Soun said, laying down another go stone with careful precision. "Although Nodoka has been a remarkable influence, I have to admit. We haven't had food poisoning in almost a year."  
  
Ranma groaned at the memory of that last disaster, but privately agreed that Akane was getting better. She at least made consistantly decent curry nowadays. Nodoka had forced Akane to work with a limited set of ingredients, and only once in a while did Akane decide to . . . experiment. Akane's idea of gourmet cooking usually involved flavors not intended for human consumption.  
  
Ranma set his son back down, and Sounma immediately concentrated on the go game before him. Ranma wandered over to the central table, where today's newspaper lay neatly, only mildly mangled after his father-in-law had finished with it. Idly, Ranma flipped through the paper, noting the baseball scores, blinking at a few advertisements, pausing over a few headlines. By chance, he found the classified ads, and something inside prompted him to find the Help Wanted section.  
  
"Lessee . . . chef wanted, no . . . driver . . . no car, hmmm." Ranma scanned them, wishing for once an ad would say something like "Martial Artists wanted." No ad ever said that. Martial artists, like kabuki theatre players and geisha, had a certain note of respect with everyone in Japan, but no one ever really *wanted* them for anything. They just wanted them to stay as they were, a comforting reminder of an ancient culture that had only decided to take a little break from tradition in the interest of becoming a world power.  
  
Then, defying that chain of logic, Ranma saw an advertisement from the Sony Corporation.  
  
"Seeking qualified martial artist to pose for 3D gaming platform in development. Prefer a medium build," Ranma glanced down over his mid-sized, wiry frame, "with many years experience. We need an excellent male and female model. Please enquire in person only. Bring this advertisement to our Personnel Department, 9th floor, Sony Tower, Ginza District, Tokyo."  
  
An idea began to form in his mind . . .  
  
Nodoka and Akane emerged from the kitchen, hot dishes in mitt-covered hands. Ranma guiltily folded up the paper, and got out of the way while the women of the house set up the dinner table. He placed the newspaper on the stand near the main door, then as an afterthought found a pen and circled the advertisement from Sony.  
  
"Dinner's ready!" Nodoka called to her husband and son's father-in-law.  
  
"How much did Akane actually make so I know not to eat it?" Ranma asked out of habit, earning him at flower-pot at the head from Akane. He ducked and it bounced harmlessly against the wall behind him, the paper flowers inside it landing with a sad whump on the ground. They kept mostly plastic dishes and things around the house, since everyone knew Akane's temper and *anything* might be thrown at some point.  
  
"I made the salad, thank you very much," Akane huffed, and began piling lettuce onto a place for her husband. "It's plain. Auntie Nodoka wouldn't let me add any soy sauce."  
  
Ranma shot a grateful look to his mother, who pretended not to notice as she set up dishes.  
  
Sounma stared at his grandfathers some more, and finally spoke aloud.   
  
"It's over," the four year old said quietly, and then stumbled over to the dinner table, where his mother and grandmother fussed over him and tucked a bib around his neck.  
  
Soun and Genma frowned at the go stones. Neither of them liked to end an unfinished game, mostly because neither of them were very good and they really couldn't tell who was ahead until the endgame itself. But Sounma had the uncanny habit of prediction who would win after the halfway point of the game. Most of the time it was Soun.  
  
But sometimes it was Genma.  
  
"Hey, Sounma . . ." Genma called to his grandson, who was already stuffing his mouth with salad.  
  
"Who won?" Soun finished.  
  
Ranma ruffled his son's hair, and leaned in close to the young boy. "Don't tell them," he whispered with a grin. Sounma grinned back, revealing a mouth full of salad.  
  
"I won't," he said.  
  
"Sounma? Help out Grandpa here. We want to eat dinner too."  
  
"C'mon, tell us who was winning . . . be a sport . . ."  
  
"Ranma, you shouldn't encourage him," Nodoke chided gently, then without another word handed her grandson another place of food. "Eat up," she said.  
  
"Sounma? Please?" Genma pleaded, while Soun sneakily rearranged a few stones.  
  
* * *  
  
The family turned in early in the evening. They tended to follow the pattern of the sun, since none of them worked in an office environment and no one was in school at the moment. Ranma yawned and changed into his usual tank top and shorts in the room he and Akane had shared ever since they were married.  
  
Nine years, he told himself, unable to believe how quickly the time had passed. Their real wedding had ended up being a brief civil ceremony in a courthouse. No invitations, no meddling, no announcement at all. The parents had acted as witnesses, and the only gift they recieved was the Tendou dojo.  
  
There had been a ruckus the next day in Nerima, of course, although he and Akane had been safely on a honeymoon to Okinawa by then. Over time, however, the mindless devotion of the Fiancées and the Nerima Wrecking Crew had weathered down into occasional good natured bantering. Some of them had even married other people. For reasons Ranma never quite understood, Kodachi had married Prince Herb of the Musk Kingdom, and she lived in China, so she wasn't a problem anymore . . . but in the case of the others, Ranma knew that the only reason they'd settled for who they were with was that it was better to live with the person who loved you best than to live without the one you yourself loved.  
  
And really, he was happy with Akane. She understood him (most of the time) and she only threw things at him or tried to hit him when he was intentionally provoking her. It was their way of teasing each other. To someone who wasn't used to it, it could be mistaken for violent abuse, but if Akane stopped trying to hit him someday, then he'd be worried. And she never hit anyone else, not even Kuno, although that wasn't hard since he'd married Nabiki and they now lived in Europe.  
  
Akane entered their bedroom, stifling a yawn. She held a glass of water in one bandaged hand, and Ranma watched as she popped a few aspirin in her mouth. "Sounma's tucked in for the night."  
  
Ranma lay back on the bed, trying to stay as far away from the water as he could. Akane set it down on her desk, at a safe distance, and started to change into her own pajamas.  
  
"Did he try to get out of it again?"  
  
"No, I told him that the best time to think about the games that Grandfathers play is right before he falls asleep. He seemed to like that idea." She yawned again, now in pair of blue and white pajamas that gently hugged her trim figure.  
  
"Scoot over," she commanded, and Ranma obliged. They shared a full sized bed now, one that had been hastily purchased after an unfortunate instance with a cat accidently locked in their room with Ranma. The wooden furniture had survived with only a few claw marks, but Akane's poor twin bed had to be vacuumed up. After that, Akane had forbidden animal of ANY kind (except pot-bellied pigs) in their dojo.  
  
They snuggled, leg to leg, and tried to find the most comfortable position without disturbing the other one too much.  
  
"Hey, Ranma?" Akane asked in the darkness, leaning against her husband's shoulder.  
  
"Mmm?"  
  
"Are we going to make it this month?"  
  
"Just barely," Ranma answered with a sigh. "One of the mirrors cracked two weeks ago, you remember that? The insurance company is paying thirty thousand yen to have it replaced, but the installation and everything ran us twice that. As long as nothing else happens, we should be all right."  
  
"I wish there was something else we could do . . ."  
  
"Actually, Akane . . . I've been thinkin' about something."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Maybe I should try to get a real job, if only for a little while."  
  
Akane sat bolt upright, not quite believing what she had just heard. "What, you mean a day job? Like a salaryman job?"  
  
"Calm down, Akane! Yeah, something like that."  
  
"But Ranma, all you have is a high school education. And whenever we've been short for a month, you'd just worked at Ucchan's for a weekend to make up for it . . ."  
  
"I can't make enough to actually gain anything at Ucchan's. We need a permanent solution, not a temporary fix. There was a job ad from Sony, lookin' for a martial artist. I'm gonna apply."  
  
Akane let herself relax again. If it was a position for a martial artist, Ranma had a fighting chance. She'd been afraid he wanted to apply for a desk job, one that he wasn't qualified for, one that would only get his hopes up only to have them dashed against the ground again. But she should have known that Ranma wouldn't do something he didn't think he could succeed at.  
  
"When?"  
  
"Tomorrow," Ranma said, a note of determination in his voice. "If I do get the job, you're gonna have to take over all the clasess except the advanced one."  
  
"That's fine. Now that Sounma's a bit older, I can handle teaching again."  
  
They were silent for a few moments, each mentally working out how to rearrange schedules. Ranma's advanced class could be moved to the evenings, and most of the other classes could stay the same, except for perhaps the 6PM intermediate class. Maybe they could be swapped out.   
  
"We'll figure out a schedule after I get a job," Ranma decided aloud. Akane made an agreeable noise, and settled down on his shoulder for the night.  
  
The door tentatively knocked.  
  
"Mama? Papa? I can't sleep," a little boy's voice whined. The parents, who had almost been expecting this, looked at one another in mutual understanding.   
  
"My turn," Ranma whispered, and crawled over his wife, trying not to disturb her too much. Unfortunately, his foot got tangled in the sheet, and he nearly lost his balance, and landed on the desk across the room. A faint goosh of water and a thump from the glass on the carpet accompanied an unpleasant dampness and an even more unpleasant sensation of morphological change.  
  
"Ranma, are you okay?" Akane cried, flipping on the light to reveal her husband, in his female form, looking quite disgruntled and wet. The glass of water had spilled onto his leg, triggering the old curse from Jusenkyo that Ranma still hadn't found a cure for. They were too poor now for certain to afford a trip to China.  
  
The water dripped steadily from the desk onto her foot.  
  
"I'm fine, I'm fine . . . I'm gonna take a bath after I tuck in Sounma . . ."  
  
"I'm sorry, Ranma. I'll clean up the water," Akane volunteered, climbing out of the bed to go find a towel.  
  
Ranma-chan stomped out of the room angrily, and plucked her son up with one hand without losing stride. Sounma giggled, as he was being carried sideways.  
  
"Hi, Auntie Ranko," Sounma said. It was what they had termed Ranma's cursed form after Sounma was born. Sounma was too little to understand that Auntie Ranko was his father, so to prevent any bizarre Freudian things that might haunt the little boy in his later life, they simply pretended that Ranma-chan was another person entirely.  
  
"C'mon, boy, let's get to bed," Ranma said gruffly, trying to impose a remembered sternness from his father's version of parenthood. Sounma giggled, indicating that it wasn't working.  
  
"Don't wanna."  
  
Ranma kicked open the door to Sounma's room, which had been Nabiki's room a long time ago before she moved out.   
  
"Sleep," Ranma commanded, depositing her son on his bed unceremoniously. Sounma giggled again.  
  
"I don't wanna. When I sleep, then I can't see the games in my head."  
  
Ranma paused at that statement. Sounma had an uncanny interest in the games that his grandfathers played, both go and shougi. He never interupted the games, but he loved nothing more than to stare at the board for hours while Genma and Soun duked it out with imaginary armies.  
  
"You have to sleep though, Sounma. We -- your parents and I worry that if you don't get enough sleep, you'll get sick."  
  
"Won't get sick," Sounma insisted.   
  
"Can't you think about the games you saw tomorrow?"  
  
"They'll play different games tomorrow. I wanna see those too."  
  
Trying to argue with a four year old was almost as futile as trying to argue with a two year old. The only major difference was that a four year old used a twisted sort of logic, while the two year old just said "no" to everything.  
  
"Tell you what," Ranma-chan pleaded. "If I play a game of go with you tonight, will you be happy?"  
  
Sounma looked blank. "Play?"  
  
"Yes. Instead of watching a game with Grandpa and Grandpa, I'll play a game with you. But only if you promise to go to sleep afterward, okay?"  
  
The little boy nodded dumbly as Auntie Ranma stood up. "Let me go and fetch the board."  
  
It was a good plan. Ranma would let Sounma push the stones around a bit, maybe sort out what his grandfathers did all the time, and let Sounma grow bored with the whole thing. It'd be over in ten minutes.  
  
* * *  
  
Three hours later, Ranma, once again back to his normal male half, stumbled into the bedroom. Akane woke up and turned on the light, revealing Ranma with bloodshot eyes and an expression of shock.  
  
"Ranma . . .?" she asked, confused. "I thought you were going to tuck Sounma in and then take a quick bath."  
  
"I was," Ranma groaned, and *very* carefully climbed over his wife into the bed. "But then I made the mistake of offering to play a game of go with him --"  
  
"Oh, Ranma!"  
  
"--and I have never lost a game of go so badly in my life."  
  
Akane blinked a few times, and then clicked off the light.  
  
"Did you finally get him in bed?  
  
"Yeah, it's almost midnight now, he's too tired to stay up any longer. I hope."  
  
"I hope he grows out of this phase soon," Akane said quietly, and burrowed into Ranma's shoulder again. "G'night, Ranma."  
  
"'Night, Akane."  
  
* * *  
  
In the darkened room, go stones danced through Sounma Tendou's sleeping mind.  
  
* * *  
  
Luxemburg  
  
* * *  
  
In front of a fireplace, several men and one woman sat comfortably in chairs. The decor around them tastefully complemented the old luxury of the chairs and people themselves; it was a place that spoke of ancient wealth, ancient knowledge, and ancient secrets. These were not the people who made history, since history is merely kings and dates and battles. These were the people who planned it.  
  
A push here, a nudge there . . . and the whole river of destiny could change its course.  
  
"They've posted the ad in Nerima," one of the men said. Neither his name, nor his face, were important.   
  
"Do you think he will respond?" another questioned.  
  
"There is no doubt. The insurance and fees is draining them dry. Only hard work has kept them afloat this long."  
  
The others nodded. Luck didn't keep people in dire financial straights afloat. In their world, luck was something that happened only when you made it.  
  
"Has he contacted Lord Sesshoumaru yet?"  
  
"Not yet. A few other hopefuls responded to the ad, and Sesshoumaru politely rejected them. I believe it is only a matter of time."  
  
"Time," the woman echoed thoughtfully, one beringed finger tapping against the jeweled head of her cane. "Time is nothing something we have a lot of."  
  
"The projected date of the project isn't for another ten years," one of the men reminded her.  
  
"Ten years is a mere breath in the lifespan of the world," she said.  
  
"He will answer soon," the fourth man said sharply. "If not, then we have . . . ways of forcing his hand."  
  
"Arrestation? Arson? Assassination?"  
  
"I was thinking more along the lines of giving him a friendly phone call, actually."  
  
"Oh."  
  
The creators of history stared at the dull orange flames of the fire in front of them. On the scale in which their universe worked, there was no such thing as a really drastic measure. Control was the key, of course. It was one thing to force two nations into terribly, bloody combat. It was another to lead them on a merry waltz to economic deadlock. Both methods eventually lead to the destruction of the nations in question. The latter was so much more interesting, though, and usually a lot more profitable.  
  
"What about the other one, the one that Sesshoumaru said was probably here now?"  
  
"We've been watching that household carefully. There have indeed been frequent sightings of a mysterious young man around the shrine." The voice paused, and then continued, slightly embarassed. "He's a bit of a tourist attraction, actually. They're making him part of the history of the shrine."  
  
"I don't like dealing with demons," muttered one of the men who had hitherto remained silent. "Bloody freaks, the lot of them. Worse than those vampires."  
  
"We are not here to pass judgement!"  
  
The mutterer grumbled a bit more under his breath.  
  
"The pieces of this game are being assembled onto the board, now," the woman said, a hint of deadly smile creeping into her voice. "And we, gentleman, are the players."  
  
"The question is . . . what is our prize?"  
  
* * *  
  
Nerima, Tokyo, Japan  
  
* * *  
  
Ranma stared in apprehension at the giant face of the Sony building in front of him. Akane had dragged out one of her father's old suits, and it fit Ranma rather loosely, but the only other nice clothing that Ranma had had been the tuxedo their parents had picked out for their wedding, which was hardly appropriate since it was white.  
  
He looked down at the ad, carefully clipped from the newspaper. He was twenty five years old, and he'd never worked at a *real* job in his life. It was frightening. Regular paychecks . . . benefits . . . regular hours . . . those sorts of things generally didn't appear in the career of a martial artist. Money was supposed to come second to one's dedication to the art.  
  
No use standing around, Ranma told himself. He entered the building, waited for an elevator, and started on the long, long elevator ride to the 9th floor.  
  
Oddly, even though Sony Tower was only ten stories tall, the elevator had many more backlit squares than that. The keypad was digital, because it was, after all, Sony, but there should have been no need for more than ten squares above the door.  
  
Seven, the numbers said. Eight. And then, nine. The elevator stopped, and the doors opened again with a muted oily, mechanical sound.  
  
A sign right in front of him said "Personnel." Ranma followed the arrow.  
  
Personnel turned out to be a large lobby with a pretty blue haired receptionist, who smiled at Ranma and handed him a clipboard when he showed her the ad. Something seemed odd about the woman, something that Ranma couldn't quite place. She made him feel very nervous.  
  
He filled it out in his careful handwriting, struggling to remember his tax ID number and the official name on his birth certificate. Finally, he handed it back to the receptionist, and wondered what happened next.  
  
She looked down at the clipboard, and blinked for a few moments as she scanned over the application. Then she smiled back at Ranma, revealing two rows of perfect teeth, and said, "Wait right here." She scurried off to someplace unseen from the lobby.  
  
Not knowing what else to expect, Ranma waited.  
  
* * *  
  
"Sara-chan?" the receptionist from personnel said into a phone.  
  
"Yes, Miruru-chan?"  
  
"He's here. You can tell Sesshoumaru-sama that the first one is here."  
  
"Which one? Tendou or . . .?"  
  
"Tendou."  
  
"Sesshoumaru-sama will be very pleased."  
  
"He will indeed."  
  
* * *  
  
And so the message reached the ears of one Sara, full youkai and secretary to one of the most powerful men . . . er, demons, in Japan. She was not ethnically a Japanese demon, but that was okay, since most demons nowadays lived in their own world anyway.   
  
Her job was a cushy one. She answered the phone for Sesshoumaru. She pushed paperwork around her desk and made sure everything got done. It was a lot of work, but it was generally very quiet. Only a very few people ever got to see her in person, and fewer made it past her to Sesshoumaru.   
  
She really wasn't a very powerful demon, as far as demons went. Not like Sesshoumaru, who was over five hundred years old and had a true form the size of a small island. Her one main ability was that she could go entirely invisible, if she so desired. It wasn't that useful, not like some youkai abilities, such as being able to devour humans in one gulp. It did make her popular at office parties, when she would strip and wander around invisible and naked.  
  
Now one of Sesshoumaru's plans had begun, and Sara anticipated being the one to tell him about it. She had met Sesshoumaru a long time ago (either four hundred and fifty years ago or one year ago, depending on how you looked at it) and in all that time, she'd found that his plans were always a lot of fun.   
  
When he'd met her again and offered her a job as his secretary, she'd jumped on the chance she'd lost all that time ago. Now she liked nothing more than telling Sesshoumaru good news. She never told him bad news, because it was her job to make the bad news go away before it ever got to him.  
  
"Sesshoumaru-sama," she said, opening the door to his office a crack and peering in to look at him. No other being, mortal or demon, dared to do such a thing. Sara had privledges.  
  
"Yes, Sara?" Sesshoumaru asked, looking up from his paperwork.  
  
She slipped inside the door, and smiled at him from across the room.  
  
"Ranma Tendou has applied for the job, just like you said he would. Miriru has already hired him. He'll start next week."  
  
Sesshoumaru set his paperwork down then, and Sara caught her breath. Even though he was well over half a millenium old, he didn't look a day over thirty. He was entirely himself today; the spells he used to keep his true nature under wraps had been dropped in favor of the natural look. Two stripes graced each high, proud cheekbone, and a large blue cresent moon glowed from the center of his forehead. His long eyes glittered a dangerous lemon yellow from inside a face that was too pretty for a man. His neatly brushed hair hung loosely down his back. In public, he pulled it back into a gentlemanly ponytail, and his cheeks bore no marks.  
  
Times had changed, however, in some respects. This Sesshoumaru wore a tailored charcoal three-piece business suit.  
  
Sara, in her little red Chanel suit and little red pumps, matched this Sesshoumaru, and she liked that fact a lot.  
  
"Has the other one arrived yet?"  
  
"We just sent out his letter yesterday. I believe he should be along either this afternoon, or sometime tomorrow." Automatically she began tidying up the office. Sesshoumaru was a neat person, in both speech in manner, but he had never really understood the true need for a filing cabinet, a quirk that resulted in cleaning maids not being allowed in his office anymore under any circumstances whatsoever. She picked up the stacks from the floor and arranged them near the wall, clearing up a signifigant amount of floor space.  
  
"You don't need to do that, Sara," Sesshoumaru said softly. He told her that everytime she started the task, which was usually every time she stepped in his office.  
  
"You never know when you might have missed something I could have taken care of, Sesshoumaru-sama," she answered with a grin, and picked up a set of complicated looking forms to prove her point. She handed them to him, and Sesshoumaru produced a tiny pair of reading spectacles from one coat pocket in order to peer at them.  
  
"Ah, I see. This is for that charity ball I was invited to."  
  
"Did you want to go?"  
  
"I may as well. I will donate one half million yen. And you will escort me, of course."  
  
Sara nodded and took the forms back from him. He pocketed the reading glasses again. He wasn't really that old, at least by youkai standards, but the eyes generally were one of the first things to go no matter what species you were.  
  
Ah, another charity ball with Sesshoumaru. In order to ward off scheming businessmen who intended on matching Sesshoumaru to their young daughters, Sesshoumaru took Sara as his date. It was a lesson he had learned long ago in the court of Kyoto. Everyone knew she was his mistress, which was the important thing. The fact that he was too much of a gentleman to actually keep a mistress never ocurred to any of them.  
  
Sometimes I wish he *would* make an improper move, she thought with a sigh. But he has too many bitter memories about his love life. He told me that much in the Sengoku Jidai.   
  
Sara had once landed in that time by accident. She had met Sesshoumaru then, and fallen in love at first sight. He had been unable to reciprocate her feelings, so she had run back to her own time, heartbroken . . .  
  
Then it had turned out that he had waited all that time for her, which was why she was now his secretary. Yet, he had never made an actual move to demonstrate anything. He was a patient man, and apparently the time for him to love Sara had yet to arrive.  
  
That was okay with Sara, too. As long as she was the one by his side, she could continue supporting him, and loving him in her own way. They understood each other that much.  
  
Sara returned to her own desk and started filling out the forms in a crisp, flowing hand.   
  
"Let's see . . . one half million yen . . . pennies for Sesshoumaru, but five times the required amount for this ball . . ."  
  
* * *  
  
Nerima, Tokyo, Japan  
  
* * *  
  
Ranma returned home to the Tendou Dojo, a rather stunned look on his face. Akane greeting him with a quick hug, and asked the question that had been foremost on her mind all day.  
  
"Did you get the job?"  
  
Ranma nodded dumbly.  
  
"How much is the salary?"  
  
"Three . . ." he began.  
  
"Three hundred thousand yen? What, is that a month?"  
  
"Three . . .," he began again, still unable to imagine that much money.  
  
"It's a good salary, Ranma. I'm so proud of you."  
  
"Akane, it's three . . . million."  
  
"Three million a year?" She calculated the math in her head. "That's a little under 280 thousaund yen a month . . ."  
  
"No, Akane. It's three million yen. A month."  
  
Akane's expression matched Ranma's for a few moments. Three million yen . . a month . . . was a lot of money.  
  
"It's only a temporary position, though. I'll be working for three months. That's nine million yen for the contract, total."  
  
"Nine . . .?" Akane managed to choke out.  
  
"Yes."  
  
They silently calcuated how much they had made, as a household, over the past nine years. It was about half that much money.  
  
"Ranma," Akane said, her face full of wonder. "Don't tell Nabiki."  
  
"I won't tell Dad, either," Ranma said, looking nervously in the direction of the porch where a panda bear and Soun Tendou were playing shougi.  
  
Neither of them had ever worked in the real world before, so neither questioned just why a job like that could pay so much money . . .  
  
* * *  
  
Luxemborg  
  
* * *  
  
The fire burned again that evening. The fire always burned, although those in the room who watched it changed occassionally.  
  
"The bait has been eaten."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Was it poisoned? Or was it in a trap?"  
  
"Not poisoned. The Tendou Dojo is, after all, a historical building. It would be a shame to let it continue in that state of disrepair."  
  
"Then it was a trap."  
  
"Perhaps not. Perhaps . . . it was only a lure."  
  
"Ah."  
  
One of the voices casually lit a cigar, earning a stern look from the woman of the group, although no one could see her actual face in the gloom of the study.  
  
"I really wish you wouldn't smoke in here," she pronounced.  
  
The man with the cigar smiled ferally back at her.  
  
"I really wish you wouldn't focus on trivial things in here."  
  
"There are no trivial things. Every minor detail is of import to some plan."  
  
"Every detail?"  
  
"Every little one."  
  
* * *  
  
End chapter one.  
  
* * * 


	2. Two

War Games Chapter II  
  
Disclaimer: None of them are mine. I'm not making money. Please don't sue.  
  
Author's note: You might want to read my fic "Catharsis." And you'll definitely want to read "Thousand Nights." Aw, heck, read all my fics! :D They're all sort of interconnected anyway.  
  
* * *  
  
* * *  
  
Higurashi Shrine, Tokyo  
  
* * *  
  
"Hey, look, I think I see him!"   
  
A crowd of children had gathered around the Go Shimboku of the Higurashi Shrine. The sacred tree, more than five hundred years old (and probably much older, although their shrine records only went back for five hundred years old), had bloomed for only the second time in living memory. The soft white flowers drifted down lazily from the branches in the warm breeze.  
  
Everyone knew the legend of the Higurashi shrine, or at least they thought they did. A miko had traveled back in time to rescue the dog demon, Inuyasha. Recently, a young boy had taken up the "role" of Inuyasha, and could often be seen sleeping in the tree where he had supposedly been sealed since the feudal age.  
  
Inuyasha knew the real story. The children on the ground down below him thought he was just playacting, but those who lived at the shrine kept what they considered to be a wonderful secret: all their legends were really true.  
  
One of the children threw a rock up into the tree. Inuyasha caught it in one hand without moving from his comfortable spot on a high branch.  
  
"Oy, stop that, ya little brats," he barked down at them, and threw the stone back. With shrieks of delight the children scampered further away. Baiting Inuyasha had become a neighborhood game.  
  
Feh, Inuyasha thought, dangling his arms at his side and wishing Kagome were home. At least this gives me *something* useful to do. Being a legend incarnate is the most boring thing in the world.  
  
He sighed. The past few months since Kagome had discovered him inside the Go Shimboku had been wonderful on one level, and miserable on another. He was glad he had waited for Kagome. It had been the best thing to do. Inside the tree, he had been able to sleep . . . gaining consciousness only when someone touched it, watching the world as it shaped and grew, watching Miroku and Sango's children guard the shrine, then their grandchildren, and then all their descendents as they grew and adapted to the changing world. Everything had been written in legend, so that when Kagome finally returned the last time, sobbing because she had lost him . . . she would find him again. It had worked.   
  
Five hundred years ain't such a long time, Inuyasha thought smugly to himself, not in the contexts of lifelong love.  
  
Happily Ever After hadn't worked quite as he'd planned, unfortunately. Beauty had woken the Beast, only to have him learn that they couldn't get married until she turned sixteen, that she had to finish middle school (and she wanted to go to high school, although her little trips to the Sengoku Jidai had hampered that path), and that in this day and age, being tough wasn't enough to let you survive.  
  
Ignoring the laughter of the children below him, the grumpy hanyou plopped stomach down on the branch, letting his arms and legs dangle in the air below.   
  
I should have gone ahead and become a human, he griped to himself for the umpteenth time. At least I'd blend in . . . there are no more demons in Japan.  
  
That sad fact is one that he'd refused to acknowledge on his previous trips to Kagome's time. He'd assumed they'd all gone into hiding, or simply moved away from the cities, but a trip to the forests north of Tokyo had revealed that even in the most rural, inaccessible areas, the demons were gone. All of them, gone. Inuyasha had never detected a single one.  
  
The miko of today were weak, watered down ceremonial versions of their predecessors. No demon hunters like Sango were left. Even the Shinto and Buddhist clergy possessed no actual powers anymore. The spirits had left. Kagome had been an exception; her abilities had not awakened until she had been thrust into an environment where they were needed.  
  
That was why Inuyasha felt so out of place. The one joy in his life was Kagome, and even she was forced to spend at least ten hours a day at school.  
  
Underneath him, the crowd of younger children gave up the game and decided to visit Kagome's grandfather, who would tell them cool stories about youkai and miko in the old days.  
  
Things became silent for a moment until Kagome arrived home from school, interrupting his meditative funk.  
  
"Inuyasha!" she called from below, her hands on her hips, her face turned up to the tree where she knew he waited. "I'm home!"  
  
Gracefully, he rolled over off the branch, catching it like a gymnast on a bar with both hands. He then dropped silently from branch to branch to the ground, where he landed upright. He felt his ankle protest, and he mentally complained about not getting enough exercise anymore.  
  
"Welcome home," he said shortly, crossing his arms in front of him. Old postures die harder than habits.  
  
"A letter came for you." Kagome dangled the envelope in front of his nose, her eyes suspicious. "You didn't enter one of those contests again, did you? It's from the Sony corporation."  
  
He snatched the letter. "Don't read my mail," he growled, and blinked at the return address. Why had anyone mailed him? He'd entered a contest from a television program a few weeks ago, and received a polite form letter requesting both his first and last names for proper eligibility. The fact that the Japanese people didn't always have last names never occurred to them. Clan names had historically been a thing for nobles, and after Inuyasha's time, as the merchant class grew . . . everyone HAD to have a last name. It was the "in" thing. Granted, most were no more imaginative than "in the middle of the rice field" but it defined them, their position, and their role in life.  
  
Inuyasha, who had no role in life, needed no last name. When he married Kagome, he'd become a Higurashi, but in the meantime, he was no one.  
  
He picked the letter open with a claw, while Kagome leaned around and peered at it expectantly.   
  
"Dear Inuyasha of the Higurashi Shrine," he read.  
  
Your unique talents have caught the attention  
  
of our Game Development Department. We are   
  
requesting your assistance as one of   
  
our developers. Your skills have been long  
  
awaited, as has your perspective of one who  
  
lives on both sides. Please go to the Sony  
  
Building, Ginza, 31st floor, and ask to   
  
speak with Sara. She will explain everything.  
  
Regards,  
  
S.  
  
Kagome's mouth had formed a perfect O.  
  
"Reminds me of 'Please Save My Earth," she said, her eyes wide as saucers.  
  
"Where's this Ginza?" Inuyasha asked, looking in confusion at the letter. "Is that another city? Another country?"  
  
"It's the shopping district, in downtown. We went there once, remember? For Souta's birthday dinner." Kagome had unconsciously clutched Inuyasha's arm, and she kept shaking her head. "I don't understand how they know about you. The kids all think you're someone playacting, and we haven't discouraged that line of reasoning. People don't *believe* in demons anymore."  
  
Inuyasha carefully folded the letter and put it back in its envelope.  
  
"I want to know who 'S' is, myself," he grumbled, and sighed. He had a bad feeling about this. "Come on, Kagome. Your mom'll be getting worried." He tugged her toward the house, and she went without protest.  
  
"It looks like they want to give you a job." She smiled at the thought. "I can't imagine you as a salary man, although I think this will be good for you. It'll give you something to do besides sit around all day and wait for me."  
  
"Feh," Inuyasha replied, and glanced nervously at the letter in his hand. Who was S? Who was Sara? Who knew that a hanyou lived at the Higurashi shrine?  
  
* * *  
  
Luxemburg  
  
* * *  
  
The fire burned freshly in the fireplace, and a maid carefully dusted a bookshelf, revealing that someone other than the chair denizens knew about the room. It was still early in the day in Europe. Those who normally met there would not arrive until much later, after dinner, when the mind was sharpened considerably by a good gourmet meal.  
  
A junior member sat in one of the chairs, preparing for her first meeting She had not known the exact meeting time, so that she had arrived much too early. Rather than be embarrassed by her mistake, she had decided to take the time to write her father and sisters a long overdue letter home.  
  
"Dear Daddy and Akane and Kasumi (and everyone else too)," she began. She chewed the end of her expensive Waterman monogrammed quill pen for a moment, and then began to tell them about how nice Sweden was at that time of the year, especially for investment bankers who liked to become very rich.  
  
Nabiki Kuno had learned at an early age that there are two types of people in the world -- those who work for success, and those who do not. Some of the lucky ones still manage to be successful despite not choosing that path, such as her husband. Tatewaki had come from old money, and so he could content himself with a life as a professional kendoist without worrying too much about the bills.   
  
She chewed on the end of her pen some more.  
  
Her family had been so different. They had the dojo, and some government subsidies to make ends meet, but more often than not they'd end up living off sukiyaki for a few days between paychecks. Her allowance had been minimal. Frustrated at not having the same luxuries as her more fortunate classmates, Nabiki had decided to take matters into her own hands. Some of her hard earned money then had gone to keeping herself well dressed and entertained (she had once blown her entire savings account on a sold-out concert ticket) but the vast majority of it went to her nest egg. She invested in the stock market, and had correctly guessed that Microsoft computer products would dominate the 1990s.  
  
She never let her family know the extent of her wealth, although they were more than a little surprised when she chose to go to a business school in the United States and front the cost herself. She herself was surprised when Tatewaki had also chosen to go to that very same school overseas.  
  
As it is in those sorts of situations, when two people who profess to hate each other wind up alone together in a strange, foreign place, they'd fallen in love.   
  
"My Kuno-chan," she murmured to herself, and continue the letter. She'd won him from Akane and Ranma, after all, because she was the kind of person who chose to succeed no matter what.  
  
* * *  
  
The maid bobbed a curtsy and left the meeting room. The junior member of Soldats was Asian, something that had caused her to nearly drop her feather duster until she recognized the girl. Nabiki Kuno, who had become the second richest woman in Japan by the time she was twenty, and the third richest woman in the world by the time she was twenty-five. Everyone in Soldats had been pleased when she sought contact in a quiet, traditional manner: calling her lawyer.  
  
Everyone also believed she would do well in the organization. Rumor was she had poor relations back home in Japan and she refused to send a penny to them. The maid, Penelope, whose family had been serving Soldats for nearly 600 years, thought very highly of that callousness. Those who triumphed in the world did so by their own ruthlessness.   
  
(It should be noted that women in Penelope's family doubled as both maids and spies, and Penelope's monthly salary as a maid for the House of Soldats in Luxembourg was more than many actual aristocrats saw in a year.)  
  
Dusting finished for the morning, the maid returned to her quarters and changed into a nice Parisian gown for an outing, and a meeting with one of her clients. Soldats were loyal to their organization first and foremost, but the factions within it usually paid more for information on the *other* factions. She wasn't being a double agent, per se; she was being a Soldats.  
  
* * *  
  
Sony Tower, Ginza District, Tokyo, Japan  
  
* * *  
  
If you took the largest denomination of Japanese currency in existence, folded it as many times as possible, then dropped it from the top of Sony Tower onto the plaza below, it would not buy the square centimeter of land that it fell upon. Land in Ginza was worth more than its footage in gold. When Sony had purchased an outrageous 765 square feet back in the 1960s, the land had cost the company twice as much as the actual building.  
  
Sesshoumaru disapproved of throwing anything out of the windows, and was glad that the tower windows of the invisible upper stories were actually hermetically sealed to prevent that sort of thing. Pedestrians walked below.  
  
The ancient demon sat at an antique giant oak desk, in a little known section of the main Sony business tower.  
  
The mighty company had long since outgrown the ten story building, which had nearly bankrupted it back when it had been built. They had gambled back then, and won. Sony Tower had not only become a successful museum and tourist attraction, it had revitalized the sagging Ginza shopping district's economy, and its lead had refreshed the Japanese economy as a whole.  
  
Now, in the heart of a recession, Sesshoumaru wondered why they had bothered.  
  
He had been with them since nearly the beginning, under one name and disguise or another. Now, as one of the lesser known vices-CEOs who still had enough power and time to actually get things done, he was free to let go of his disguises during even normal business hours. The only humans who ever got as far as Sara's office never got any farther, because the only people who ever needed to see Sesshoumaru nowadays were demons.  
  
The youkai of Japan had indeed disappeared, but only into the other dimension. A great many still lived and worked in Tokyo, and he had gathered them together slowly in the heart of the Sony Empire. Most of them, like Sara, had been hand picked. Only those who wore a human guise could work in public positions, but many of the designers and warehouse workers were in some of the stranger shapes that demons came in.   
  
The video game industry was their favorite toy. First the Playstation, then its sequel, the Playstation II. Demons *loved* video games. Ever since Nintendo released the Famicon, youkai had plunged happily into the messy medium of game design. A great many names on game credits were actually pseudonyms from demons that preferred to remain anonymous.  
  
Sesshoumaru checked his appointments for the day. He had sent the letter to Inuyasha only yesterday, but it was possible that the hanyou would have gotten it already. The one that the Associates( as he had taken to calling them) had recommended, Ranma Saotome, would begin the next day. That left only one more duck to line up, his actual platform engineer.  
  
She would be down in the beta-testing room, most likely.  
  
He pressed down on a section of the oak desk, and a smooth section lifted slightly to reveal an intercom. "Sara, I will be gone for a brief while," he said into the tiny microphone.  
  
"Yes sir! No one is expected anyway. I'll man the fort."  
  
Sesshoumaru nodded in appreciation. Sara was a good woman, one who had definitely been worth waiting five hundred years for. Before, when he had met her, his loss of Makoto had been too fresh, too strong. He had loved Makoto dearly, and her death had frozen his heart. Not even Sara could thaw it then. Rin had melted it somewhat, with her childlike innocence, but in the end she had gone back to the humans, where she belonged, once again leaving Sesshoumaru alone.  
  
He stepped down the old fire access staircase, to avoid meeting any lost humans in his current fully relaxed condition. The elevators had confused a few humans once, who lacked the ability to see the extra dimension in the building and had thought the extra buttons meant there were twenty levels of basement. Two levels down . . . two hallways across . . . and there was Ruka's dungeon.  
  
The beta-testing room.  
  
He didn't knock, since there would be nothing but youkai in there. Inside was dark, and extraordinarily messy. At least a dozen platform systems connected to the bank of monitors and televisions that lined the walls. There was currently one lone occupant, his platform developer. She was lounging back in an office chair, her feet on the desk before her, her gaze affixed to a heated game of Valkyrie Profile.  
  
She was also one of his special crack team of beta testers, which consisted mostly of eleven year olds and college students.   
  
"Greetings, Ruka," Sesshoumaru said, his clear soft voice ringing across the room, causing Ruka to jump in her seat guiltily. She recovered quickly, as her usual bright arrogance overtook her fear.  
  
"Greetings, Sesshoumaru-sama!" She smiled at him, her young freckled face glowing eerily in the light of the monitors around her. "I wasn't expecting you."  
  
"Obviously," he commented dryly. "Your continued lack of adherence to company policy annoys me."  
  
Ruka twirled one of her green ponytails thoughtfully. "I was trying to see if I could tweak a Playstation game to run on half the components in the original platform." She pointed to the monitor, where brightly colored gods had paused in their gleeful annihilation of one another. "It's worked pretty well, although some of the accelerated graphics are still off."  
  
Ruka had been one of the initial designers of the Playstation II, and everyone -- human and demon alike -- had wished she'd also been around for the original Playstation. As far as youkai went, she was not very powerful, but she had an uncanny gift with machines. They bowed before her like the wind had bowed to Kagura, and like corporate minions now bowed to him. She had grown up around technology and reveled in it, loving nothing more than forcing machines to work to their best potential. In all likelihood she was telling the truth, and HAD forced a Playstation game to run on half its required hardware.  
  
"Regardless of your current task's relevance to platform development, do refrain from having your feet upon the table," he admonished. The twelve year old youkai girl immediately dropped them down to the floor.  
  
"Sorry," she grumbled, sitting up straight and setting her hands primly on her lap. "How may I assist you, Sesshoumaru-sama?"  
  
That was more like it. He commanded respect from his employees, and did not like to have to demand it.   
  
"We begin work on the new platform tomorrow," he said. "Our sponsor's candidate for the 3D model has been hired, and you'll begin engine development tomorrow."  
  
Ruka's pout was immediately eclipsed by a determined, eager expression. "Yes!" she cried, smashing her fist into the arm of her chair. "Thank you, sir!"  
  
"There will also be a new member on the development team," he told her. "A hanyou. His name is Inuyasha."  
  
The girl blinked. "A hanyou? Wow, I didn't know those still existed. Ever since the Great Migration . . . I mean. Wow."  
  
"Tell the others to prepare the status logs. There can be no mistakes." He said the last sentence with a faintly menacing tone of voice, and then turned to leave.  
  
"Yes sir," she chirped, and made a show of turning off the video game. "Leave it all to us."  
  
He nodded in acknowledgement, and left the beta testing room.  
  
* * *  
  
Inuyasha, dressed in his normal garb with the addition of a baseball cap to cover his ears, had to spend at least a full minute in the elevator before he remembered that he had to press the buttons. To him with his youkai eyes, the interior of the building looked quite a bit bigger than the actual footage it contained on the outisde. Kagome's mother had gone with him on the train ride to Ginza, and was now outside window shopping while he went through whatever the hell he'd been called there for.  
  
At the twentieth floor the elevator stopped. He stepped out, relieved to be free from the stuffy little box.  
  
He walked down the hallway, sniffing his way rather than reading the signs. The letter had had an almost familiar scent to it, and those same notes were present all through this floor of the building. Where had he smelled it before? Who was it that had that particular flavor?  
  
The smell was strongest in front of a plain, unmarked door. He glared at it for a few minutes before shrugging and walking in, unannounced.  
  
The room was small but brightly lit. It held a single desk off to one side, with a lone woman in it, who was carefully typing something on a miniature computer.  
  
She turned when she heard him enter, her large blue eyes widening in surprise. In that instant, she gave off a brief flare of youki -- the first that Inuyasha had ever felt in Kagome's time since he'd killed the Noh mask.  
  
"Greetings! You must be Inuyasha." She smiled sweetly. "Unfortunately, you've caught us at a bad time, since the Vice-CEO is not in at the moment. But please, have a seat." She gestured to a few comfortable chairs that were near the door where Inuyasha stood. "As soon as he comes back in, you can go into his office. He wanted to speak directly with you first, which is quite an honor."  
  
"You're a youkai," Inuyasha accused, glaring angrily at the woman.  
  
She shrugged, tapping one manicured finger against her desk. "Yes, well, who isn't in this office building?" She sniffed a bit, and then went back to her typing. "You're a hanyou. The first one I've ever met, actually. Not many youkai interact with humans nowadays."  
  
Inuyasha's mind was reeling with the possibilities. There was at least one full blooded youkai left in Japan, and she spoke of others. Where had they all gone? Where were they now? Why weren't they giving off waves and waves of youki that he could detect like he could in the old days?  
  
"The Vice-CEO said you'd been sealed right through the Great Migration, so you probably are wondering where the heck everyone has gone," she said conversationally, as if reading his mind. "We're still around. By the way, you might want to hide your youki, if you have the spell. You're broadcasting to every budding psychic in the city as you are."  
  
Inuyasha was about to respond that he had no idea how to hide his youki, but at that moment a calm voice rang through the intercom in the airy little room.  
  
"I have returned," it said.  
  
Sara pressed a button on her computer and answered, "Welcome back, sir. Inuyasha is here."  
  
"So quickly? Good. Please send him in."  
  
Sara smiled prettily at Inuyasha, and tilted her head toward the door behind her. "You may go in now."  
  
Inuyasha hated this time. Even youkai were now as polite as their human counterparts, apparently. Inuyasha, with his rough language and course manners, would stick out like a sore thumb even among the other half of his heritage.  
  
The door had no handle, so he touched it lightly. To his surprise it hissed open sideways, like an old sliding rice paper door. Behind it was a much darker room, lit only by the sunlight streaming in through the floor to ceiling windows. The faintly familiar smell swelled until it was almost overpowering.  
  
A large wooden desk sat squarely in the center of the room.  
  
Behind it sat Sesshoumaru.  
  
"Do stop gawking like an idiot and step inside, Inuyasha," Sesshoumaru said curtly. Inuyasha snapped his jaw shut and stomped forward, unable to believe his eyes.  
  
Sesshoumaru had aged considerably, but gracefully. His hair was as silver as ever, and his smooth features bore no trace of wrinkles or wear, but the air of boyish youth that had adorned him even at the age of eighty was now gone, replaced by the assurance of a youkai in his prime. It had been Sesshoumaru's scent that Inuyasha had smelled on the letter and in the hallway. How had he forgotten that scent? So close to his own, but sharper -- the scent of the forests and the moonlight?  
  
"You," Inuyasha finally bit out. "You're the one who sent the letter."  
  
"I see that your mind hasn't completely rotted from all that time you spent sealed in the shrine's tree." Sesshoumaru calmly placed a pair of half moon spectacles on his nose, and glared at his half brother. "Unlike you, this Sesshoumaru spent the last four centuries doing something useful."   
  
Inuyasha could stand it no longer. "What the HELL is going on around here?" he growled, and stomped toward Sesshoumaru. "You're dressed all funny, and all the demons are gone from Japan, and then I come here and there's a youkai for the first time in months!"  
  
"Please calm down, Inuyasha. You are annoying me."   
  
The hanyou knew that he wasn't going to get any answers from Sesshoumaru until the older demon was ready to give them. Frustrated, he stomped over to a chair on the far side of the room and plopped down, glowering. Sesshoumaru ignored his theatrics for several moments, before leaning back in his own chair and pinching the bridge of his nose.  
  
"I will give you a few of the answers you seek. The reason that you haven't felt any youkai in Japan is because most of them are no longer in this world. Those who are have control of their demon auras, to the extant that humans who once could detect them no longer even exist. It has been that way for a hundred and fifty years in Japan, and even longer in other parts of the world."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Humans. Their population greatly outnumbers us, and they have weapons that any sensible youkai lives in deadly fear of. An ancient youkai exterminator used our bones and body parts to create weapons to harm us. Modern humans use metal that can puncture even a dragon's hide in an instant. Rather than fight for dominance in a world where we lived in danger of our lives every day, we chose to flee to another world of our own. That was the Great Migration."  
  
Inuyasha's anger faded as Sesshoumaru explained the need for the separate dimension. In the Demon World, only a portal away, the youkai had exploded in population just like the humans had in this world. It was as if the two types of beings had kept each other in check; left alone, they had both rapidly grown to consume all the resources that their respective worlds had to offer.  
  
Finally, Inuyasha asked the question he had had since he first got the letter. "But what do you want with ME?"  
  
Sesshoumaru casually rearranged stacks of paper on his desk. "There is a faction in the Demon World that seeks to once again overpower the human population of this world, and claim it for our own. They feel as though the humans should never have been left to their own devices, since they've botched up this world tremendously. Youkai in power once more would teach the humans all that they have lost."  
  
"Are you one of them? You hate humans."  
  
"You never did know the true story as to why I hated humans, and disliked hanyou, Inuyasha. That was a long time ago." Sesshoumaru's impassive expression dropped for a moment, revealing a pain in his eyes that no amount of centuries would erase, but he quickly put his mask back in place. "I am not one of that faction. In fact, I seek to prevent that faction from gaining power. That is why I called you here."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Inuyasha, I need you." Sesshoumaru finished sorting the paperwork, and very calmly folded his hands in front of him. "There are no hanyou left. I need you to set an example as to why humans and youkai should avoid interaction whenever possible."  
  
Inuyasha's anger returned. "So you want to parade me around as some sort of inferior breed?" He leapt of from his chair and unsheathed Tessaiga; it immediately blossomed into an enormous ivory blade that seemed to hum with energy."  
  
"Inuyasha. Put the sword *away*." Sesshoumaru's voice had dropped at least ten degrees.  
  
Inuyasha did not. He kept it at the ready, his eyes burning with resentment so fierce that Sesshoumaru subtlety shifted to the defensive.  
  
The older demon tried again. "You are a bridge between the worlds. As you well know, you are very fortunate to have come out half-transformed rather than half-monstrous as most hanyou are wont to do. What if a weaker youkai were to breed with a human? A beast would be born, one that had no intelligence, no means of securing a living in either world."  
  
Tessaiga dropped maybe an inch. Inuyasha waited for Sesshoumaru to go on.  
  
"Without Tessaiga, your youkai blood isn't sealed. I have seen you at that worst, Inuyasha, and it isn't a pretty sight. There ARE no more people capable of creating something like Tessaiga. What if another hanyou were to go into a killing rage like you?"  
  
Finally Inuyasha seemed to understand. "It isn't me you want as an example, just my youkai form."  
  
Sesshoumaru nodded. "Precisely."  
  
With a sigh, Inuyasha re-sheathed his treasured sword and walked over to the desk, where he met with Sesshoumaru almost nose to nose.   
  
"So is that all you wanted me for?"  
  
"Not quite. I also would like you to join my platform development team. It will give you something useful to do, and keep you from drawing attention at that shrine where you live. Humans nowadays don't believe in youkai, but having a hanyou living in a tree, while cute at first, will inevitably draw suspicion where it is least needed." Sesshoumaru shoved some forms toward Inuyasha. "Sign these. You begin tomorrow. And do try to find some decent clothing. This isn't the Sengoku Jidai anymore; Sony is a white collar industry, and you'll need to wear a shirt and tie. You'll also need to have your family created a bank account so that we may deposit your paychecks. I have taken the liberty of creating a tax ID number for you and a false identity; be sure to use those."  
  
Inuyasha's jaw flapped open a for the second time in the past ten minutes as he tried to absorb all that Sesshoumaru was saying. Mechanically, he reached for the forms and looked at the printed kanji name that had been neatly type at the top.  
  
Higurashi Inuyasha.  
  
He signed it.  
  
* * *  
  
End Chapter 2  
  
* * * 


	3. Three

Author's notes: This is pre-series Noir, before Kirika lost her memory.  
  
I've been trying to avoid spoilers for the plot of Tenshi ni Narumon since only the first six episodes are currently available in the US. For that reason, about half the characters have been stripped for the purposes of this fic -- Michael, Raphael, Silky, Eros, Muse, and Natsumi will not be making any appearances. (Silky's character changes so much throughout the series that any mere mention of her constitutes a spoiler!) Even then, there are certain things that I had to give away for the purposes of narrative. Obviously, Noelle was an angel baby adopted by a family of demons, who gave up their lives in the Demon World to give her a safer life in the Human World. (Safer from what . . . is a spoiler.)  
  
Anyway, enjoy chapter 3 of War Games!  
  
Tendou Dojo, Nerima District, Tokyo  
  
* * *  
  
Outside the Tendou dojo, a lone figure crept alongside the wall, gun in hand. She looked all the world like nothing more than a typical Japanese teenager, except for the gun, with her short-cropped dark brown hair and denim miniskirt.   
  
She paused for a moment when she heard a small movement, then began to move again when she realized it was just fish in the koi pond ahead of her. Her feet squeaked on the grass by accident once, but that was the major extent of evidence she gave to her presence.  
  
No one seemed to sense her here. Good. She put away her gun, glad to know it wasn't needed, and peeked over the windowsill to see the middle generation of Tendous involved in one of their infamous fights.  
  
* * *  
  
"You're BOTH the male and female models? Pervert!" Akane flounced across the living room to plunk down at the table, sulking. She had been in a very good the day before when Ranma had announced his salary, but after his first day of actual work, she wasn't really that pleased with the job description anymore.  
  
"Look, Akane, that's one reason my pay is so high, okay? When I filled out the application, I circled both genders out of force of habit. Upon learning of the nature of my curse, the creepy chick had little yen signs in her eyes. If I were only doing one model, I'd only be making six million yen -- but as it is, they're saving three million yen. That's the same salary as some people make in a whole year. They're doing it for economic reasons."  
  
Ranma sat down next to her, and touched his wife's shoulder gently. Theirs had been a rocky relationship from the get-go, and nine years of living together hadn't smoothed it out any at all. But the taming of his shrew had taught him several things, and the most important thing was that Akane wouldn't listen to reason until someone beside Ranma pointed it out to her.  
  
"That didn't mean you had to accept! You know I hate it when . . . men ogle your female half."  
  
"You and me both," Ranma muttered. Nodoka entered the room, bearing a tea tray, and Ranma shrugged out of the suit top he'd been wearing. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, they'd begin actual modeling soon, and he'd be wearing just a form fitting lycra bodysuit with special tags on it that the three dimension modeling cameras would detect as he moved. At least he'd be out of a suit and tie.  
  
The three of them settled silently into a very informal tea ceremony, and Ranma gave his mother a knowing look. Nodoka was better at handling Akane than anyone, and luring her into the meditative silence of tea forced the girl to think for a bit before yelling anymore.  
  
Sometimes Ranma wondered why Nodoka and Akane got along so well. Perhaps it was Nodoka's patience; almost as infinite as Kasumi's, but with the stronger steel that came with being a true lady of honor. Too bad they were all so poor; Nodoka Saotome had been dressed in finery as a child, and it was only her bad luck that the man who had married into her clan had failed as a provider. She still wore her worn out kimono proudly, even if the silk was mended and the embroidery beginning to fray.  
  
It made Ranma feel a little better, knowing that with the income from his job, they'd be able to fix up the dojo and give Nodoka the sort of lifestyle a lady of her original rank deserved. It was the least he could do for the way she handled his temperamental wife.  
  
Finally, after at least fifteen minutes of gently sipping at tea with only the cool wind of the night air and the sliding of shougi tiles across the room to break the silence, Akane spoke again.  
  
"I went out and bought you a new suit, Ranma," she said, catching his blue eyes for a moment with her own dark brown ones. "I figured that you can stop wearing that old one since you're actually employed."  
  
Ranma nodded; her unspoken statement that she wouldn't argue any more meant that the impromptu tea ceremony had worked.   
  
"I'll clean the tea up then," Nodoka said quietly, and Akane helped her without asking. That left Ranma to himself.   
  
He walked over to the window, and leaned against the rice paper wall with a gentle thump. The stars had winked on outside, and the crisp air and cicadas warned of the approaching autumn. He sighed heavily, and finally left to go play with his son.  
  
* * *  
  
Kirika forced herself to breath calmly as Ranma Tendou looked out at the yard inches above her head. Were she not as well trained as he, his fighter's instinct would probably have detected her presence the moment she walked onto his property, but as it was she had suppressed her ki until she didn't exist on the energy level anymore.   
  
It wasn't yet time to abort the mission. She had still to confirm that the youngest Tendou was indeed alive and gifted with unusual intelligence.   
  
It was odd; Altena had requested she do this, at the same time that a message from an anonymous member of Soldats requested that she do it as well. Soldats must have a vested interest in that little boy, Kirika decided.   
  
Part of her was sad. Children like her and Chloë were ripped from their families at childhood the instant they showed potential for fighting ability or strategy. Kirika didn't remember her real family; all she had ever known was Altena, who was firm but kind in her training with Kirika and Chloë. They were Altena's children.   
  
Kirika snuggled into her warm fleece hoodie, and waited for something, anything to indicate that the Tendou son was really the tactical genius he was purported to be.  
  
* * *  
  
Tuck, fold, bend, unfold, tuck. Another one done. On Sara's desk, a crystal jar half filled with tiny paper cranes commanded attention; it was brightly painted with red geraniums, and had a little sign in front of it that said "Last count: 257."  
  
A long time ago, Sara had learned origami in the Demon World from an old, refined youkai courtesan. She'd had a special knack for it, and ever since she'd moved to the Human World with her family last year, she'd been so happy to finally have her chance to fold a thousand paper cranes. When August finally had come, she'd thrown four garlands of tiny cranes onto the memorial.  
  
Youkai like Sara wanted peace more than anything.  
  
She used a block of small, neon memo pads, and folded some of the tinier parts with a toothpick. She'd been working for about two weeks on this jar now; she already had one full jar at home, the cranes strung on a thread, waiting for next year's memorial.  
  
This was her favorite lunch break and after work activity, and also a sort of time passer if things got slow in the office -- which was rare. Since she tried hard to keep Sesshoumaru from having to do any actual work, she ended up doing more than anyone else on his staff. So he didn't mind when he caught her occasionally tossing a new crane into the smaller jar while her nails dried. The little jar would later be counted and emptied into the large one.  
  
It was now almost seven at night, but Sesshoumaru had yet to leave his office. She would wait until he was gone for the day before leaving herself; Mama understood that Sara was a working woman now, and would sometimes be late.   
  
She had just started on another crane when Sesshoumaru's voice came in over the intercom. "Sara, can you come here for a moment?"   
  
"Yes sir," she replied quickly, and set the unfinished crane down. She smoothed her wild, salmon colored hair, touched her lips to make sure the kiss-proof lipstick was still in place, and straightened out her red power suit before quickly trotting over to the office door behind her desk.  
  
She stepped inside and walked in a few steps, waiting to see what Sesshoumaru needed of her. She kept her face calm, although her breathing slightly quickened when she saw the tall, elegant youkai in front of her. He was mostly disguised at the moment, with his stripes and moon invisible, although his hair was loose.  
  
"Sara," he began, leaning back and adjusting the tiny reading glasses he occasionally wore, "how old are you?"  
  
She blinked. She hadn't been expecting that question at all.  
  
"Ninety four years old, sir," she said. Still the flush of youth in a demon's timescale. Were she a human, her creamy skin would be papery and wrinkled, her back bent with age, her lovely dark pink hair yellow and white. As it was, she didn't look a day over twenty.  
  
"It just occurred to me that when I first met you, you were ten years older than I was."  
  
Sara blinked again, and gave in the urge to laugh softly. "Time travel tends to do that to people. And now you're four hundred years older than I am, more or less."  
  
He nodded. "More or less."  
  
"Is that all you needed, Sesshoumaru-sama?"  
  
She looked at him expectantly, wondering why he had thought to ask her that all of a sudden. He stood up and walked around the desk, grabbed her shoulders, and kissed her.  
  
She was so startled that she didn't even fight back; not that she'd ever fight him off, but this was all so sudden that it couldn't be proper at all.  
  
He only kissed her for a few moments before breaking it, and looking down at her face with a faint glitter in his usually cold eyes. "I should have done that in the Sengoku Jidai."  
  
She shook her head no. "You weren't ready. Rin told me about Makoto; and even though it had only been sixty years before, it was still too fresh, I'm sure. I'm just happy that I was able to meet Sesshoumaru again."  
  
He stared at the wall behind her, and spoke in a fond, but sad voice. "Makoto was the sunshine that thawed my frozen heart back then. I was lucky to have her for as long as I did." He sighed. "I blamed humans for her death, and deep inside, I blamed her. For being a hanyou. For being weak." He kissed Sara's forehead, and dropped his arms around her in a genuine embrace. "Shortly after that my father died as well, leaving another halfling to suffer the same fate as Makoto. Lucky for that one, he fell in love with a human, not a demon."  
  
"Humans and demons in love can will always lead to tragedy," Sara quoted in agreement. She chuckled bitterly, thinking of her old unrequited love for Michael. "Angels and demons, too, for that matter."  
  
"Nowadays, the risks are almost forgotten. It is good that my half-brother picked someone from this time to seal him up in the past. I can use him as the example of what dangers like in interbreeding. He's strong enough to survive what both worlds could throw at him, unlike most hanyou."  
  
"Surely it's not so dangerous now," Sara argued.   
  
"It is more dangerous than ever." Sesshoumaru's expression darkened. "A human must never marry a youkai ever again."  
  
* * *  
  
Tendou Dojo  
  
* * *  
  
The shougi battle had almost finished. Soun Tendou stared at it with the concentration of someone ten times his age. He had run over to the game as soon as he dad had gone through a few very basic kata instructions with him, which seemed to please his father so Sounma played along. He DID like the things his parents did; they were great fun, but not quite as much fun as watching his grandfathers fight an imaginary war with a virtual army of stone.  
  
Slide, pause. His maternal grandfather paused and made a thinking noise.  
  
"Dinner's ready!" Nodoka called quietly.  
  
"Well, Tendou, we should end this game quickly." Genma started to slide one of his warriors across the board, but a small, involuntary noise from Sounma caused both him and Soun to jump.  
  
"No?" Genma said, not lifting his finger from the tile.  
  
Sounma shook his head in denial. Advancing that tile would not help Genma at all.  
  
"Then where?"  
  
"Here." Sounma pointed to another tile, and then pointed to the position it needed to advance to on the board. The new position would endanger two of the enemy tiles while leaving none of the friendly tiles vulnerable.  
  
The two older men looked at what their grandson was suggesting, and thought carefully. Genma slowly slid the tile he was touching back into place, and did as his grandson instructed instead.  
  
"Oh," Soun said. "No fair, Saotome, taking help from the boy."  
  
Genma smirked. "That's my grandson," he said, and ruffled Sounma's hair.   
  
Sounma giggled and clambered up to his feet, stretching his little legs. "Should I help you more?" he offered. "I can see the whole game from here."  
  
Genma and Soun looked at the young child in surprise, then looked at the board . . . then at each other.  
  
"No," they both said at once.  
  
Sounma felt vaguely disappointed, but then his mother came along. "Sounma, these two old men are going to get spoiled if you win their games for them," she said, and swung him onto her hip. "Come along. Your father has hardly seen you all day, and dinner's getting cold."  
  
The two old men looked back at the board in contemplation.  
  
"Looks like I've won, Tendou," Genma said.  
  
"Maybe," Soun answered, and slid another tile up to fight.  
  
* * *  
  
Sony Tower  
  
* * *  
  
Sesshoumaru wasn't sure why he had chosen that moment to finally express himself to Sara. Part of it was most likely what he'd talked about. He needed more than a cover to keep himself from being used as the Eligible Bachelor among high society matchmakers. Sara had functioned well as an appearance mistress, and she had never complained, but it was time to make an honest woman of her, so to speak. The least he could do was actually start a genuine affair for her.  
  
As he nibbled on her neck he remembered their one night of passion back in the Sengoku Jidai. She had fallen into the well, quite by accident, and landed in the past a few months after Inuyasha had been sealed for the second time. But Sesshoumaru had still been mourning his late wife Makoto. He still mourned her every day; every time he saw a cat, every time he saw a blonde, every time he saw his half brother. He had been afraid that he'd broken Sara's heart when she ran away the next day and never returned. He knew she was from the future, and had vowed to live on until the day he could see her again.  
  
So many of the things came to fruition just like Makoto and Sara had both predicted that Sesshoumaru's passage through the centuries seemed to go by quickly. After the Second World War, he had decided to play around in electronics for the first time, and had been instrumental in re-establishing contact between the Human World and the Demon World. Even now, a youkai family wishing to live on this side of the daemons needed a visa, but the process for acquiring one was far, far easier than it had ever been. The youkai wanted to move back.  
  
And therein lay the danger. Humans and youkai mingling freely produced hanyou, and hanyou were often so deformed that they were stillborn or monstrous in appearance. Inuyasha and other children of taiyoukai were an exception; however, if Inuyasha's youkai blood ever took over again, he'd be reduced to a snarling monster fit only to be destroyed. There was no love lost between Sesshoumaru and his little brother, but he didn't want Inuyasha to die either, not when he'd finally discovered love with a human.  
  
Sara and Sesshoumaru had half stumbled, half danced their way to his desk as they kissed like teenagers. She was sitting on his high antique desk, her legs dangling off it in her sheer taupe stockings. She had kicked off her shoes, and then arranged them neatly together on the floor with her toes, all way working the knot on Sesshoumaru's necktie.  
  
"I'm glad you waited for me," she whispered again, her sky blue eyes darkened to a royal color with passion.  
  
"I'm glad I did too," he answered solemnly, and reached to unfasten the buttons of her power suit. At that moment the phone in his office began to ring.  
  
The broke apart, confused, since all calls were supposed to be routed to Sara first.  
  
"Who has my private line?" he asked impassively, looking at the phone.  
  
"No one except me! Could someone have hacked into your system?" Sara began straightening his tie, knowing that whatever they had been about to share would have to wait until after business hours. Fraternizing among employees was against company policy, come to think of it.  
  
"We shall find out." He regretfully plucked her off his desk and set her back on the ground. "You may wish to go notify the networking department of the security compromise." He kissed her briefly, and then gently sent her towards the office door. She glanced back at him once, worriedly, and left the room in her bare stockinged feet.  
  
Annoyed, Sesshoumaru sat at his desk, then looked at the caller ID on his office phone.  
  
Ah, he thought. It is one of those times.   
  
The video screen on his desk opened quietly, interrupting the polished oak surface so smoothly that there should have been ripples on the rest of the plane. It unfolded itself so that it stood upright at a comfortable viewing angle, and then the video blinked into existence. On the screen appeared a fireplace, and a view of a few gnarled hands clutching canes in chairs around it. No faces showed.  
  
"Greetings," Sesshoumaru said calmly in English.  
  
"Salutations to you, Lord Sesshoumaru. I trust I am not interrupting something?" the voice on the other end said, the tone in it suggesting that whatever it was that had been interrupted had been unimportant compared to its message.  
  
Sesshoumaru glanced down at Sara's shoes. She hadn't had time to put them on.  
  
"No," he lied.  
  
"Good. We have news from the ambassador of France. It seems that there are certain . . . individuals who would not like to see your game completed, for some reasons that are different from the usual ones."  
  
"Go on," Sesshoumaru prompted.  
  
"It isn't just that the War Games project will make real human wars outdated and obsolete. It's that they will defy traditions that have been passed on through the ages."  
  
"This is no different from you have already told me."  
  
"These groups will send . . . assassins. Highly trained ones."  
  
"Human assassins do not frighten me." Sesshoumaru began to drum his fingers against the desk impatiently. Sometimes the Associates forgot precisely whom they were dealing with.  
  
The link was silent, until someone else cleared his or her throat.  
  
"They do not know your nature yet, Lord Sesshoumaru. But if they learn, well, everyone knows there are ways to kill demons as well."  
  
Sesshoumaru gazed at the innocuous fire, and considered his next words carefully. The Associates believed it was important enough to warn them, and he knew that in these cases, it was best to listen to advice.  
  
"I shall watch my back."  
  
"Very good, Lord Sesshoumaru. And how, may I ask, is the Game itself progressing?"  
  
"We have hired our martial artist models. They will begin recording in a few days."  
  
"Excellent." The fire crackled for a few moments more. "Until next time, Lord Sesshoumaru."  
  
"Next time, you will not be able to hack into my video-phone without my consent." He shut the screen manually, perhaps a little more forcefully than necessary, and made a mental note to hire a personal network engineer for his office suite. The Associates had their own resources, and Sesshoumaru was not about to let them outwit him in the bizarre dance of mutual hinting that they engaged in each time they spoke.  
  
Assassins, was it? No human alive would able to seal him except for his brother's human woman, and even then she'd have to use an arrow to do it. Being wounded, on the other hand, might be an . . . inconvenience.  
  
Sesshoumaru sighed to himself, and picked up Sara's little red high-heeled pumps. After more than five hundred years of living in this world, he certainly had his libido under control, but he hated leaving things unfinished.  
  
He carried the heels into the reception area. Sara was diligently typing, her hair still delightfully mussed.   
  
She looked up as soon as she sensed him, and smiled when she saw that he had his shoes. Her little ruby earrings glittered as she moved her head.  
  
"Thank you, Sesshoumaru-sama. The networking department is already tracing the hack, but it appears to have been routed through at least twenty computers. It'll be hard to trace."  
  
"Regrettable. Shall I leave these here?" He set the shoes down under the desk, well away from her feet.  
  
"I suppose," she said, a bit confused. He stood up, straightened out his suit, and then plucked her from her chair, swinging her into his arms before she could even squeak in surprise.  
  
"Sesshoumaru-sama?"  
  
He carried her into his office, closed the door, locked it, and carefully unplugged his Ethernet connection.  
  
"There are some things worth waiting for," he said, before returning to where they had been interrupted.  
  
* * *  
  
Luxembourg  
  
* * *  
  
The firelight glimmered in the dark air.  
  
"You've not seen him before, have you?" one of the voices said.  
  
"This was my first time." Nabiki's voice was shaking slightly, but she managed to steady it. "I had no idea they were real . . ."  
  
"Not many humans alive do."  
  
"Don't worry, your sister and brother-in-law are safe. The assassins being sent are not targeted for them."  
  
"As far as we know, anyway," someone corrected.  
  
Nabiki stared at her hand, which was bejeweled and clutching a cane she didn't need. All of the other people around the fire held them as well, although only two of them actually needed them. Appearances were important.  
  
"He's one of the strongest ones alive, too. I've heard rumors that he's been around since the Middle Ages."  
  
Since the Sengoku Jidai in Japan, then. Around five hundred years old.   
  
Part of Nabiki's mind rebelled against that length of time. No one lived for that long; even Happosai wasn't three centuries old as he sometimes claimed, but merely pushing a health hundred. Soldats had warned her, long ago, when she'd first been invited to join their ranks, that many of the conspiracy theorists in the world weren't just blowing hot air. They WERE covering up things.  
  
Not aliens. Just . . . demons.  
  
Nabiki herself had seen firsthand that the old magic from legends still clung to this world. Wasn't her own brother-in-law inflicted with a water curse, one of the most common? Yet magic and actual magical beings were two different things. Magic was passive, around them, in them as ki. Magical beings went against her whole worldview.  
  
"Anyway, now that that unpleasantness is out of the way, shall we get down to business? We have much to accomplish tonight, ladies and gentlemen, and only a few brief hours in which to do it. First things first; it is still early evening in England. Please send through a message to Mr. Blair."  
  
Nabiki Kuno had not, however, become one of the richest people in the world by letting herself be ruled by her emotions. She forced the thoughts of the demons out of her head, and joined her fellow Soldats in ruling the world.  
  
* * *  
  
Kamoshita Household, Suginami Ward, Tokyo, Japan  
  
* * *  
  
Not too far from Nerima Ward, in a neighborhood that was not too different from that of the Tendou household, an extremely unusual house stood out from the rows of small middle class dwellings.  
  
It was as if an abstract artist with a fondness for extraordinarily bright colors had decided to try his hand at architecture. The proper basic shape was there; apparently two stories, nice green lawn, with a red gabled roof. Some things simply didn't belong on a Japanese middle class house, however, such as the small Ferris wheel and the whimsical eyes and glass-encased patio mouth.  
  
Kirika blinked. And blinked again. This . . . this was the Kamoshita home? Her research indicated that Kamoshita Yuusuke was a teenager living at home alone with his fiancée's rather eccentric family. It had mentioned nothing about it having been designed by a lunatic.  
  
Shaking her head to clear it, she crept across the lawn, ducked into the bushes, and peered inside the window.  
  
"Hey, Miruru-chan, did Sara say she was going to be late?" a tall, pretty woman asked the girl sitting next to her on an enormous couch. The couch nearly spanned the entire length of the room, and at least half a dozen mismatched people -- they couldn't all be Japanese -- perched upon it, engaged in various activities. The youngest, whom Kirika recognized as Ruka, the genius child who worked at Sony as a designer, was tinkering with some device. Beside her a young man was sipping something -- that had to be tomato juice, it just had to be -- from a martini glass. The Personnel receptionist from Sony was snuggled up against him contentedly, like a cat. She seemed to be wearing fake cat ears and a curly tails as well. Next to them was a giant, ugly hulk of a man with the most unusual skin tone Kirika had ever seen. He actually looked *purple*, and the bizarre color was accented by a garish orange suit. Finally, draped across the end was a very old woman wearing frumpy maroon robes and a witch hat.  
  
The two most normal people in the entire room weren't on the couch, but instead lay on the floor, school books in front of them. The boy, probably Kamoshita, seemed to be explaining something to the girl next to him. For reasons Kirika didn't even want to fathom, she wore a fake halo.  
  
"I think Sara was . . . er, distracted at the office," the cat-girl answered, blushing ever so slightly and winking.  
  
"See, now this is why I don't work. You guys can be kept away from home as long as those slave drivers want you there!" the young man next to her said, downing the rest of his red drink in one gulp. "Since I'm just a volunteer, I can leave whenever I feel like it."  
  
Kirika recalled her notes, trying to match names to faces. The only "volunteer" listed in her information was Gabriel, who worked in a local blood center. Miruru would be his wife. That made the enormous . . . person, the only other male in the room besides Kamoshita, the one known simply as "Papa." Papa had worked odd jobs occasionally, ranging from a manager to a pro wrestler to construction work. He was currently unemployed. The tall pretty woman had to be "Mama," who stayed at home and cooked for the most part but was also the manager for the Suginami city woman's volleyball team. That left Noelle -- Kamoshita's fiancée, obviously the blonde on the floor beside him -- and Ba-chan, the old woman.  
  
There was one missing; Sara, the receptionist for Sesshoumaru, vice president of the games division of Sony. She was obviously still at work.  
  
The family had seemed strange on paper, and she had almost questioned the accuracy of the description, but Altena had assured her gravely that it was no mistake. Yet nothing had prepared her for the reality of the Kamoshita household. Eccentric was not a strong enough word; freakish seemed more fitting.  
  
"Someone has to work, though," Miruru pointed out. "Yuusuke's father stopped paying the mortgage once he saw the house, remember? And there's food . . . and electricity for Ruka's workshop . . . and my cell phone bills . . . magic doesn't buy that sort of stuff, you know." She patted her slightly rounded belly. "Besides, we have a future to think of in this world as well."  
  
"Yeah," Ruka chimed in. "We can't just hop into a daemon every time we need something anymore." She turned a crank on the object she had been tinkering with, and a shower of confetti erupted from the top.   
  
"I still don't like it! I'll never like it!"  
  
"Like it or not, Son," Papa said sternly, "for Noelle's sake we had agreed to never go back. Even now that . . . now, we won't."  
  
Noelle looked up at the sound of her name, giggled, and randomly reached over to kiss Kamoshita.  
  
The cozy family scene caused a pang of longing in Kirika's heart. Right now, if she weren't on a mission, she'd be doing her afternoon exercises with Altena and Chloë, reading about the latest exploits of the mysterious assassin Mireille Bouquet, or studying with the sisters of Altena's order. But because Soldats had asked Altena, and Altena couldn't refuse, both she and Chloë were currently out in the world, doing Soldats' dirty work.  
  
Kirika sank down further into the shadows, and suddenly wondered what a "daemon" was.  
  
Voices drifted up from the street. Kirika spared a glance, and then stared when she saw the last family member, Sara, being escorted by none other than the Vice President himself. He worked under a pseudonym but everyone in Soldats knew him by what was apparently his real name -- Sesshoumaru.  
  
The moonlight hid most of their features, but Kirika could see that both of them fit in strangely well with the bizarre family she was spying on; Sara with her odd, fluffy salmon hair, and Sesshoumaru with his long mane of silver. Upon closer inspection, he seemed to have two dark scars on his face as well, extending from his ear to halfway down his cheekbone on the side facing her. Kirika frowned. None of her notes had mentioned such a disfigurement, and she couldn't recall seeing them in any photographs.  
  
"Are you sure it is all right for this Sesshoumaru to make an unannounced visit?" he asked Sara solemnly as they walked up the drive.  
  
"Of course," Sara said, giving her hair a toss over the shoulder. "Mama and Papa so rarely get company of our kind, they'll be just thrilled to meet you."  
  
Our kind? Kirika thought as Sara stepped up onto the porch only a few feet away from her. What did she mean by "our kind?"  
  
At that moment Sesshoumaru looked at the bushes. Kirika suppressed her breathing, dampened down her anxiety, and willed herself into invisibility. The cold comfort of a gun against her hip reassured her, but the stare lobbied in her direction was not accidental.  
  
He knew she was there.  
  
The tiny hairs on the back of her neck prickled in alarm. Still, she did not move. She swore that his nose seemed to quiver, and she had the distinct feeling of being . . . hunted.  
  
"Sesshoumaru-sama, are you all right?" Sara asked, her hand on the door handle. She looked at him in concern.  
  
Tearing his gaze away, Sesshoumaru gave the foreign woman a quick nod. "I am well. Although I believe your family may will to invest in an exterminator. There seems to be some minor infestation of some sort."  
  
"Really? Huh, we'll just get Ruka to fix something . . . Mama, Papa, I'm home!"  
  
They entered the house, and from the shouting and hugging inside, everyone was quite pleased to see them.  
  
Kirika's heart continued to beat a staccato for several minutes. What had *happened* just now? From her hiding place only someone who was directly in front of her should have been able to see her. She wore muted colors, and her hair was dark enough to blend in with any shadow. But Sesshoumaru had known she was there. He hadn't betrayed her presence, however, which was very careless of him. She WAS a trained assassin. Had she been asked, she could have leveled the gun to his heart at any moment and killed him . . . no doubt there was a bounty on him, probably several from different organizations in fact. Surely he had more care for his personal safety.  
  
But Altena had not asked her to kill anyone here. She was merely to observe for the moment, and report back what she saw.  
  
Shaken, Kirika scurried out of the bushes, ready to leave the strange, strange Kamoshita household.  
  
* * *  
  
Mama had not been expecting three of her children's employer to be there for dinner, or else she would have made something fancier. As it was, her cuisine was fortunately geared toward mostly a demon appetite, with only a few more human dishes for Noelle and Yuusuke.  
  
Her famous eyeball loaf stood proudly next to blood pudding and squiggly hair pasta. They would have Jasmine jelly and sprynock hearts for dessert. As a rule she avoided some of the more grisly recipes she knew, because they tended to spoil Yuusuke's appetite (Noelle never questioned them in her innocence.) Yuusuke had turned green the first time she explained the full range of ingredients for eyeball loaf, and had refused to eat anything besides rice for a week.  
  
Papa, sitting on the couch, was grilling Sesshoumaru on the rigors of his job.  
  
"So you were there at the beginning of Sony, correct?"  
  
Sesshoumaru nodded, willing to play along for the moment. Being surrounded by other demons in a home environment was not something he'd had much opportunity to do over the centuries, but he felt very comfortable here. "It seemed like a good idea at the time, and I had prior knowledge that as a company Sony would succeed." The demon lord sipped from a cup of tea, and glanced down at the human teenagers, as if to ask whether he would be allowed to speak freely.  
  
"Yuusuke and Noelle know," Sara put in quickly. "Remember, we raised Noelle from birth . . . she's hardly known anything but our world."  
  
He continued. "Once we installed the daemons in the seventies, our division of Sony was allowed to grow unhindered by the constraints of space. Even now only a few of the higher positions in Sony are aware of just how large of an employment base we have. Much of that is due to . . . certain projects that are kept entirely secret."  
  
"Ah, proprietary information," Papa said, sounding more jovially ignorant than he actually seemed; it was probably just an act. It was something, Sara had explained, that they had done for Noelle's sake. A human girl -- well, more precisely an angel girl -- needed to be protected from the darker aspects of the demon world. Rather than confuse her as a child with things that she might not understand, the demons in her family had feigned ignorance of most of the stranger things around them. Noelle had never once questioned their family's differences from the other youkai families in the Demon World, and even now in the Human World she didn't question much.  
  
Unfortunately, the act had become so ingrained that Mama and Papa had almost forgotten how to talk normally. Of the family, only Ruka was frank with Noelle, because she had realized early on that Noelle was grandly oblivious to anything but the light. It was part of her nature, since her own darkness had been ripped from her at birth.  
  
"Dinner's ready!" Mama called from the dining room. "Sesshoumaru-sama, I added the drop-leaf so that there will be room for you. You can sit between Sara-chan and Ruka." She glanced at the human and angel, who had both risen groggily from the land of high school entrance exams. Sesshoumaru had hitherto ignored them, and he realized that she had seated him between two full demons for a reason.  
  
He'd long ago grown accustomed to humans, but not all demons were like him. He appreciated her tact.  
  
He liked Sara's family. He liked them a great deal. They were so different from the only other family he'd known . . . his father, who had buried his mother a few brief months after his birth . . . his father's second human wife, who had been two years younger than Sesshoumaru . . . Makoto, the sunshine that had flickered only briefly before the long winter of the feudal age settled in.   
  
This family was colorful and open. There were no fears of territorial squabbles ripping them apart, no dangers of other youkai attacking and challenging them, killing their father and brother and sisters. The youkai civilization had not only matured beyond the human civilization, it had surpassed it.   
  
"Ten-yen for your thoughts?" Sara offered him with a faint grin.  
  
"I was just thinking," Sesshoumaru said with a raised eyebrow, "that the aforementioned conversation could not have taken place a hundred years ago. I believe one of the humans would have been eaten."  
  
Sara laughed, the silvery sound echoing through the cavernous house before she escorted him to the dining room.  
  
* * *  
  
End chapter 3 


	4. Four

Inuyasha stood nervously in the elevator, wearing the "professional" attire that his brother had demanded for the job. The starched, white oxford shirt seemed to stifle him. Western-style clothing, as Kagome called it, was too tight and felt as if it were hindering his movements.   
  
Kagome's mother had come to the rescue and taken him shopping the prior evening, so that he now had several suits that Sesshoumaru should find suitable. The only point Inuyasha had refused was the suit coat; instead, he kept it slung over his shoulder, in case he needed to put it on.   
  
His hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and his ears had been clipped back and hidden under his hair. His sensitive hearing was only slightly hindered, but the clips hurt like hell. He hoped it could take them off once he was in the sanctuary of the office.   
  
The elevator stopped on the 28th floor, one of the invisible floors that, as Sesshoumaru had explained, existed in the pocket dimension above Sony Tower. He stepped out, and glanced around a bit, quite at a loss of what to do. Someone named Ruka was supposed to meet him . . .   
  
"There you are!" a girlish voice trilled, and a very young demon came barreling out of an unmarked door. She was wearing a lab coat with dozens of stuffed pockets. Two green pigtails framed a freckled face, and large brown eyes peered out from behind thick glasses. She was cute in her own way, and looked completely human except for the large elven ears that jutted out three inches on either side of her head.   
  
"Are you Ruka?" Inuyasha asked.   
  
The youkai girl nodded. "That's Ruka-*sempai*, thank you very much." She winked. "Sesshoumaru-sama asked me to teach you the ropes around here. If you'll follow me, we'll be working in another building entirely for today. Just to be on the safe side. Sesshoumaru-sama asked me not to take you to the Demon World just yet, so we'll just stay in one of the pocket dimensions . . ."   
  
Ruka held out her hand, and a crackle of lightning flew from it and met an invisible plane in the air in front of it. The plane formed a black hole of nothingness in the air, lined with the lightning, and slowly grew until it was large enough for even a tall person to walk through.   
  
"First off, this is a daemon. It's a portal that opens gateways between dimensions. There are only two large dimensions, the Human World, and the Demon World, the latter of which was uninhabited until a few hundred years ago. There are also an infinite number of pocket dimensions, including the one we're currently in. Sony Tower has a permanent daemon installed in the elevator shaft, which carries the elevator to the top story. Reach out with your senses; you can only feel a few hundred people in this miniature-world."   
  
"What the hell mumbo-jumbo are you talking about?" Inuyasha grumbled. He hated being treated like a child, especially BY a child.   
  
"I'm *talking* about teaching you modern youkai society from the ground up. Just do it!"   
  
Reluctantly, Inuyasha closed his eyes and let his powerful youkai senses take over. The matrix of smells and sounds that formed in his mind showed him that, indeed, there weren't many people or youkai in this dimension at all.   
  
"Good. Now, the pocket dimensions are great for several things. First off, infinite storage space. Every youkai can access a unique pocket dimension all their own at any time, so you can just chuck stuff in it an take it out whenever it's needed. It's the proverbial "hammer space," so to speak. Once you're able to generate a daemon, your personal pocket dimension will be one of the first ones you'll be able to recognize."   
  
Ruka stuck her free hand into the black hole. It seemed to disappear.   
  
"A stable daemon is completely safe. You can't be split in two by accident. This daemon here, however, is travel daemon; it will take us about three miles away, to one of the Sony laboratory buildings. Travel daemons are only accessible at certain points, or nodes. You should never enter a travel daemon unless you know where it ends up, or else you could end up dead. There's at least one travel daemon in Tokyo that leads straight to the heart of the Sun."   
  
Inuyasha was getting tired of the lecture, of just standing there while Ruka played schoolteacher.   
  
"Are we fucking going or not?" he asked impatiently.   
  
"In a minute, sheesh!" Ruka scowled at him, then pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose and cleared her throat. "The third type of daemon also can only be fully opened at certain spots, and that is a World daemon. Youkai can travel freely through world daemons, but to actually live in the Human World now requires a permit. Youkai who are caught staying too long on the Human side of a World daemon can be arrested."   
  
"What about me? I don't have a permit or anything like that."   
  
Ruka sighed. "Didn't you pay attention to anything you were told? Sesshoumaru got you a permit the day you were unsealed from your tree. You're a legit Human World resident. However, permits can be revoked at any time. If a youkai harms or kills a human on purpose, his permit will be revoked and he'll most likely be put to death. The last thing we want is to draw attention to ourselves."   
  
Ruka finally stepped through the daemon, and tossed a quiet, "Come along" over her shoulder before she disappeared entirely. Inuyasha hesitated, still unsure about the crackling black hole of energy in front of him. She said it was safe, and that he'd traveled through one in the elevator already, but still . . .   
  
Her head, disembodied, poked through the daemon again. "I said come on! I can't hold this thing open all day!" She disappeared.   
  
Gingerly, Inuyasha stepped toward the floating circle, and poked it with one finger. The finger disappeared. Around the edge of the black circle, lighting and harnessed youkai power crackled. His finger felt fine and still quite attached to his body, even though he couldn't see it.   
  
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and stepped through.   
  
  
  
* * *  
  
"Sounma?" Akane's voice called throughout the hallways of the Tendou dojo. Ranma was at work, and Akane refused to admit that she missed having him around during the daytime. It was almost noon, and the painfulness of being without him was only slightly diminished by the presence of her father and in-laws.   
  
Sounma, however, was a physical reminder of Ranma, and whenever she played with her son or just held him in her arms, she felt a lot better.   
  
"Heh, so I have gotten used to him," she said to herself, remembering the first few days after meeting him when she couldn't sleep, knowing that the strange pervert to whom her father had engaged her was just down the hall, ready to pounce and rape her at any moment. Fear of violation had always been the strongest for her, and it had taken several months for it to sink in that Ranma would never, ever hurt her.   
  
Even then, when they were married, she'd had trouble adjusting to having him around her so much . . . during school, during meals, and then . . . at night. Well, that part had been rather fun, but his constant presence had rubbed at her for a long, long time.   
  
Now that he was gone for half the day, it was the same worrisome feeling in reverse. She was *used* to him being in the same building with her all the time, except for errands. Having things be different, even if only temporarily, was strange and disturbing. Other housewives had done it for centuries in Japan, however, so Akane was not about to show her weakness to anyone. Oh no.   
  
But to be strong, she needed her son.   
  
"Sounma, where have you run off to?" she called again, peering into the dojo. She was relieved to finally see her son there, silently contemplating the dojo sign and the nameplates next to it -- Tendou Akane, and Tendou Ranma.   
  
"Don't scare mommy like that!" she scolded, and scooped him up into her arms. He was getting heavy, but she was still quite strong.   
  
"Sorry, mom," he said, looking genuinely apologetic. "I was looking at the drawings."   
  
"Those aren't drawings," she said. "They're writing. You have books; you've seen writing before."   
  
"Yeah, but the pictures aren't the same. These are prettier." He pointed to the kanji in Ranma's name. "I know what it says. It's daddy's name. Ra-n-ma." He pointed to the furigana next to the kanji as he said each syllable. "And that's yours. A-ka-ne."   
  
"That's exactly right!" Akane was pleasantly surprised. "But you knew those were our names, didn't you?"   
  
He nodded, and snuggled into her shoulder. He smelled clean and sweet.   
  
"I thought they might be, so that's why I checked the little writing. Why are there two types of writing?"   
  
"There are actually three types. You can see two here. You'll learn all about the first two types in kindergarten soon." She pointed to the furigana. "This is hiragana. When it's written next to kanji like this, then it's called furigana."   
  
"Oh, I knew that," Sounma said impatiently. "I wanted to know WHY, though."   
  
"I, um . . .," Akane was at a loss. "It's just the way it's always been. When you learn to read, your teacher will explain it to you better than I can."   
  
"But I can already read, mama," he insisted. "I just read the sign, didn't I?"   
  
Akane smiled knowingly at her son. "Yes, you're already learning your kana very well. But there's a lot more to writing. That's what school is for."   
  
"I want to go to school now." Sounma had resorted to whining.   
  
"Someday you'll regret those words," Akane said, squeezing her son affectionately. "Come on, let's go eat lunch. Your grandmother made rice balls for us."   
  
"Rice balls!" He squirmed to indicate that he wanted down, and she obliged. He trotted out of the dojo, and Akane smiled to herself. He really was a bright boy. She imagined herself turning into one of those insane taskmaster mothers, who demand that their children obtain the highest grades in the school to stand out from the crowd . . . nah. She couldn't see herself fulfilling that role at all.   
  
"Still," she said to herself as she left the dojo, sliding the door shut behind her, "I wonder who's been teaching him hiragana?"   
  
* * *  
  
  
  
Kagome stared out of the window, the oppressive weight of high school entrance exams causing her shoulders to droop and her sparkling eyes to dim in a stupor. In the front of the classroom, her teacher was droning on and on about algebra, but her eyes were trained firmly on the clock on the tower outside, which would signal a release from school in a few brief minutes.   
  
She'd been trying desperately to catch up in math ever since her adventures in the feudal age had ended. Her overall average had improved considerably, but she was still far behind and had so much material to learn that not even cram school would help at this point. Her other subjects were just fine, however, which counterbalanced her miserable math scores. She'd written a vivid description of a feudal battlefield for her history essay, and smiled secretly to herself when her teacher had praised the accuracy and depth she'd put into her writing. Her English classes were a bit more difficult, but she managed to produce grammatically whole sentences most of the time, pleasing the American teaching assistant that helped out her class.   
  
She's still pull off an A average in every class except for algebra. Grades would not help on the dreaded exams, however.   
  
Her friends had helped a lot, sharing their notes (Ayumi's had been the most useful.) Algebra was a mystery that she just HAD to crack. She wanted to go to the same high school as her friends; it wasn't the best school in the area, but it was still tough to get into, and about ten blocks closer than her second choice.   
  
She would not crack it today, however. The subject was too dry, the professor too boring, the day outside too pretty. In her soul, she longed for the quiet and boring of the feudal age. Her legs ached to walk for miles again, day after day.   
  
This was her reality however, and so long as Inuyasha was in it, she'd put up with any math her teacher would throw at her.   
  
The bell rang. Her friends immediately gathered around her, offering support and suggestions.   
  
"That last part was difficult! I'll never be able to plot out a parabola just by looking at the equation," Kagome moaned, and mentally chided herself for goofing off and staring out of the window while her teacher explained how to do it.   
  
"You can borrow my notes," Ayumi said loyally.   
  
"My sister says it gets worse once you hit calculus, because you have to plot out things in three dimensions," Eri muttered.   
  
"Ugh!" Yuka put in. "Maybe high school is a mistake after all . . ."   
  
The group of girls put on their shoes and left the building, discussing the miserable hell of polynomials and equations. Outside in the schoolyard, a group of students had gathered together, abuzz with whispered conversations. Kagome and her friends were about to pass them by when Yuka noticed who was the current center of attention.   
  
"Oh Kagome! Isn't that your boyfriend?" Yuka declared excitedly.   
  
Kagome whipped her head around, and blinked in confusion. It was Inuyasha. At least, it had to be Inuyasha, because not many people in this day and age had a mane of silver hair quite like that. It wasn't *her* Inuyasha, however. This Inuyasha looked like he had just stepped out of the pages of GQ magazine. Kagome's mouth fell open in shock.   
  
His hair had been pulled back into a ponytail. His ears were missing, although his bangs looked suspicious lumpy where they should be. He had on dark glasses, and wore a crisp white shirt and dark slacks with suspenders. A suit jacket was tossed over his shoulder casually. He looked calm, well groomed, and thoroughly modern.   
  
Eri reached over and gently closed Kagome's jaw, grinning. "Stop drooling, Kagome," she said.   
  
"Wow, he sure does clean up nice!" Ayumi said in awe.   
  
"Uh . . .um," Kagome managed to choke out. "I guess he does."   
  
Inuyasha spotted her then, and walked over towards her. The crowd of curious onlookers parted like a sea before him. The tailored pants accentuated his cocky swagger. Brand new shoes gleamed against the rough cement.   
  
"Oy, Kagome," he called.   
  
"Oh my god. I just realized who he looks like. Kagome, is he related to Sesshoumaru?"   
  
Without stopping to question why her friends knew about a feudal aged dog demon, she said without thinking, "Yeah, he's Sesshoumaru-sama's half-brother." She couldn't tear her eyes from Inuyasha, who also stared straight back at her.   
  
He finally reached her group, and stopped just a few feet short of Kagome.   
  
Her mouth worked wordlessly for a few moments as she tried to think of a coherent thought.   
  
"Kagome, your mom says I should start picking you up from school, since it's on the way home from the train station," he offered by way of explanation. "Keh, it's not like you're going to get attacked by demons or something while you walk to the shrine, but she said she'd feel better about it."   
  
She blinked at him a few times while her friends giggled.   
  
"Every day?" she finally squeaked out.   
  
"Yeah, well, it's not like I've got much else to do except help your grandfather at the shrine, is it?"   
  
Guiltily, she nodded. She knew it was boring for Inuyasha to wait for her day after day, but she'd never thought to see him transform like this.   
  
"Well . . . I guess we'd better go, then," she said nervously, and waved to her friends. She was nearly shaking with apprehension. Inuyasha's lean, wiry body filled every millimeter of his clothing to perfection. She was filled with unexpected attraction to this new man.   
  
They left the schoolyard, a buzz of gossip following them as they walked down the sidewalk to the shrine.   
  
"How was your first day of work?" she asked, still struggling to get her lust-fogged mind into operation.   
  
"Boring as fuck. I did learn a lot of interesting shit about where all the demons went, however. Turns out they all went into hiding." He didn't mention the parallel universe or the daemons, because that was still too confusing even for him.   
  
"That makes sense. Is your brother . . . treating you well?"   
  
"I didn't even see him today. I was working with some little kid named Ruka."   
  
"Ah." She frowned, a random thought piercing through her cottoned senses. "How did they know about Sesshoumaru?" she asked, more to herself than to Inuyasha.   
  
He answered her, anyway. "Sesshoumaru is apparently a not-so-secret big-wig at Sony. You already knew he was the one who sent the letter, 'cause I told you yesterday. But what I didn't tell you was that he's pretty fucking famous nowadays." Inuyasha scowled. "And rich. Still an arrogant bastard, however."   
  
"Odd. I wonder why I never saw him before . . . then again, I always wonder why I never paid attention to what Jii-chan said about us." Kagome coughed. "I go through life with blinders on, don't I?" she said with a sad smile.   
  
"So do a lot of people, Kagome," Inuyasha agreed, but caught her hand and squeezed it in a surprisingly touching gesture.   
  
"By the way," she said, and cringed when her voice caught in her throat. "You look nice in your new clothes." And that was the understatement of the century, she mentally amended.   
  
"Bah. I can't wait to get out of this clown suit." He wrinkled his nose. "Everyone at that damn office wears them." He tugged impatiently at the tight collar. "I don't feel like I can really move around. But your mom insisted, and suggested this as being more my style than the three piece shit Sesshoumaru wears all the time."   
  
Go mom, Kagome silently cheered. "How did you hide your ears?"   
  
Inuyasha winced. "Bobby-pins. Ruka says that a lot of demons go ahead and get ear reconstruction surgery to blend in better. That's not an option in my case. In winter, your mom suggested I consider wearing a hat instead."   
  
"Not a baseball cap," Kagome warned. "Or the kerchief. That's too casual."   
  
"I don't think anyone will honestly care at the office."   
  
They were home. The usual crowd of children had gathered, but no amount of rocks would coax the demon from his tree this time, since he wasn't actually in it anymore.   
  
"Scram! Go home!" he shouted. All the little children just looked at the well-dressed man with wide-eyed curiosity.   
  
"He's not going to play anymore," Kagome said to them with a gentle smile. Reluctantly they scattered, one throwing a final rock at the tree.   
  
They looked at the parting group of little kids, and only then did Kagome notice they were still holding hands.   
  
"Well . . . coming home from school is going to be a little different from now on," Kagome said. "I wonder what's for dinner tonight?"   
  
They walked inside the house, hand in hand, to find out.  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
Dearest Kirika,  
  
Chloe and I miss you dreadfully. She returned to me safely several days ago. I only hope that the mission, which has taken you so far away from us, will end quickly too, so that you can return home. The situation is not so dire as the rest of Soldats make it out to be, however, and even brought to fruition that man's plans will have little bearing on our own. Do your best but keep yourself safe. Nothing is worth harm to you.  
  
My love, use this opportunity to stretch your roots and your branches deeper and further toward the sky. Soon you will be with us once more, and you can share everything that you have learned with Chloe. She pines for you daily, but you pine for her as much when she leaves us as well . . . perhaps raising you so closely was a mistake, but it is one I would gladly repeat for the constant joy you each bring to me.  
  
Be well, my child. May God bless and protect you. Amen.  
  
-Altena  
  
* * *  
  
Mother Altena,  
  
I have learned much already. There is a deep magic in this place, Nerima. I have seen unbelievable things with my eyes, ones that I cannot put to paper in case they endanger the mission. My full reports to Soldats do not even begin to describe what we have stumbled upon . . . but then, I know that Soldats is in all likelihood fully aware of it anyway.  
  
All is well, otherwise. I am safe. I miss you and Chloe.   
  
-Kirika  
  
* * *  
  
"Doctor Tofu," Akane said, eyeing her brother-in-law as he stuck a large needle in her son's arm and injected a booster shot into it, "there is something I did want to discuss with you. About what age do children begin to learn to read?"  
  
"It depends on the child. Sounma, have you started reading and scaring your mother?" Tofu said with mock accusation to his nephew.   
  
"Reading is taking the pictures off paper into words . . . yeah, I've been reading," Sounma answered with his usual forthright honestly. He grimaced and rubbed his arm where he'd gotten the shot, then watched in fascination as his uncle placed a clean bandage over the puncture.  
  
"Who's been teaching you?" Akane asked, confused.  
  
"Momma, you have. You read to me all the time."  
  
"Sounma, you're all done. Go ahead and go into the waiting room and play. I need to talk with your mother."  
  
Sounma obeyed, slipping off the examination table with a loud plunk, and then scampering into the small atrium of the office.  
  
"Don't go outside the front door," Akane warned him, and then sat down on a chair with a sigh. "What does he mean, I'VE been teaching him?"  
  
Doctor Tofu Ono sat down as well, at his desk, and played with a pencil. "You read children's books to him. You have since he was born. He has full access to those books on his own. It's not that unusual for a child to begin to phonetically associate the kana with spoken syllables, even at his age. Heck, fifty years ago, it was expected that four and five year olds could read simple books in hiragana."  
  
"He just seems . . . so calm, for a four and a half year old. Just a few months ago he was a bundle of energy, defying me at every turn. Now he's so pensive. He watches his grandfathers play go and shougi more than he watches television." Akane sighed a mother's sigh. "There's nothing wrong with him, is there?"  
  
Tofu shrugged; the afternoon light glinted off his glasses. "There's nothing wrong at all. Some children just advance more rapidly than others. He does have some of the traits of a five or five-and-a-half year old now, but eventually he'll slow down and act more his age."  
  
Akane looked out towards the front atrium, where her son had sat down with the blocks kept there for children and was seriously assembling them into some building or another.  
  
"I just have a bad feeling about this. Neither Ranma and I are particularly intelligent . . . Ranma barely even finished high school."  
  
"Genius does run in the family, however. Look at Nabiki." Tofu grinned. "I wish that *I* had that kind of genius. And keep in mind that there are many types of intelligence. You and Ranma both have physical intelligence. Kasumi has emotional intelligence. Who's to say that your son can't have his own gifts? It's nothing to worry about at all."  
  
Akane smiled reluctantly. "I guess you're right. Maybe I should consider enrolling him in go classes someday."  
  
"Actually, what you should consider is putting him in pre-school now. I think being around other children will do him good, and perhaps stabilize his development a bit."  
  
"No," Akane rejected the idea swiftly. "I mean . . . not now." She shook her head. "I've just lost Ranma for half the day . . . I can't bear to lose Sounma too."  
  
"I know it is a hard decision, but you can't hold onto him forever. He'll have to start school next year anyway."  
  
Akane bit her lip in agitation. "Let me be selfish for just a little longer. When Ranma is finished with his job at Sony, I'll see about finding him a pre-school."  
  
"That's as good as a promise, then. Tell the folks at home that Kasumi and I would love to have them over for dinner again some time."  
  
Akane nodded, and stood up. After only the briefest moment of confusion, she hugged her brother-in-law, and then went into the waiting room to collect her son. The other patients there breathed a sigh of relief when they saw Akane and not her sister . . . Tofu would have been useless for hours if he'd even had a simple conversation with his wife.  
  
"Say goodbye to Uncle Tofu," Akane told her son.  
  
"'Bye, Uncle Tofu!" Sounma said obediently, and waved. Akane took her son's hand and led him out the door, toward home. Ranma would be home soon as well.   
  
She wanted to see him again.  
  
* * * 


End file.
